


Red Lines

by larryhaylik



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Magic, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Anxiety Attacks, Blood, Blow Jobs, Bottom!Stiles, Claustrophobia, Death, Hand Jobs, Injury, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Minor Character Death, Permanent Injury, Royalty, Schmoop, Spark!Stiles, Threats, Top!Derek, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-09
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-08-20 12:40:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 36
Words: 50,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8249453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/larryhaylik/pseuds/larryhaylik
Summary: The Chosen and the crown prince or princess then have a month to decide whether their relationship is able to withstand the years and the difficulties of ruling. Should their relationship prove insufficient, the crown prince or princess can either pick another Representative from the Closing Ten, or postpone the Choosing a year. This can happen several years in a row until the crown prince or princess reaches the age of five-and-twenty. Then the title passes on to another sibling or the closest relative. Should their relationship prove steadfast, the couple shall be wed, and after the crowning ceremony as equals rule the kingdom.
   It looked easy, in the books. But the books are not always true and when the unexpected happened, things got complicated.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Welcome to the beginning of what looks like a fic that's going to be several times longer than anticipated. And more complicated. But nevermind.
> 
> Chapters should be posted every Sunday/Monday, depending on where you are, where I am, and what's up. I'll do my best.
> 
> I'll be adding tags as I go.
> 
> Enjoy! xx

**The Kingdom of The Hills of Beacon: History  
Lukas the Literate of House Martin**

Chapter 12: The Choosing Ceremony

This chapter speaks of the marriage traditions of the crown prince or princess. For the traditions of other royal children see Chapter 16.

As can be expected, choosing the right wife or husband for the crown prince or princess is an extraordinarily difficult task. Not only the person, commonly referred to as The Chosen, has to be educated in humanities, sciences and the manners of court, he also has to show loyalty, both obedience and leadership and a certain ability to think in ways that lead not to his personal prosperity, but to the prosperity of the state - quality both the royal and the Chosen share. Out of a tradition set up in year 397 of Second Age by King Robert II., the Chosen always comes from the ranks of common folk.

The Choosing is a long and wearisome, yet necessary process. The first stage is in control of city mayors; to create a list of common folk between the age of fifteen and twenty from which the Councilors of the city choose Representatives. Their names along with the basic outline and achievements are sent to the Royal Hill. There, the second stage begins. The Great Table, consisting of ten men, sets to eliminate the number of Representatives to the Closing Ten of those who are deemed most suitable. The crown prince or princess then has a week to decide which Representative from the Closing Ten will become the Chosen.

Once the name of the Chosen is known, said person is required to leave for the Royal Hill within a week of the message reaching them. 

The Chosen and the crown prince or princess then have a month to decide whether their relationship is able to withstand the years and the difficulties of ruling. Should their relationship prove insufficient, the crown prince or princess can either pick another Representative from the Closing Ten, or postpone the Choosing a year. This can happen several years in a row until the crown prince or princess reaches the age of five-and-twenty. Then the title passes on to another sibling or the closest relative. Should their relationship prove steadfast, the couple shall be wed, and after the crowning ceremony as equals rule the kingdom.


	2. 1: Don't Get Into Trouble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the first proper chapter! I hope you enjoy it xx

Stiles let out a low whistle, craning his head upwards to see the ornate ceiling of the First Hall. He had never thought his way would wind him up here, to the seat of the ruling family, but hey, who was he to complain, right? 

The brown-haired man, who had previously introduced himself as Theo (and done so very coldly and kind of angrily, if you asked Stiles), coughed politely, reminding Stiles of what he was supposed to do; follow him, that is. 

Up a few stairs, left turn in the Second Hall, up a million stairs that had Stiles panting and wheezing (Theo wasn't even slightly out of breath, what in the heavens?), down a hallway that had windows on the right side, never stopping to talk to anyone, although they shot them curious glances and whispered to each other in a way that reminded Stiles of his years of schooling. 

Theo halted so suddenly Stiles bumped into his back.

"Oh, sorry," Stiles mumbled, eyeing the simple white door in front of them cautiously. If you'd asked him, he would've said they were pretty much the same as every other door they had passed.

Theo opened the door and stepped aside, wordlessly telling Stiles to come in. And Stiles did.

Sea. That word would Stiles use to describe the room. It was spacious, light streaming from the windows on the right side. It made the cobalt blue of the walls look as if it was shimmering. 

Shimmering almost like Stiles' vision had when he had read a roll of yellowed parchment stamped with the wolf of the royal family for the first time - it had been lying on his table upon his returning from the science lesson one Thursday afternoon. It had been rather short and curt, an emotionless recount of what he was to do. The seal had already been broken which meant that his father was familiar with its content.

"Miss Erica will come in half an hour to lead you to the bathrooms." The unexpected noise made Stiles jump three feet in the air. He had forgotten he wasn't alone. 

"Okay," he said, heart still beating wildly. Nodding (and smirking), Theo closed the door and left Stiles on his own.

"Okay," Stiles repeated quietly and looked around, squinting inquisitively at everything. 

The curtains were dark, dark blue, almost black and so soft to touch Stiles would willingly sleep in them. There was a wide windowsill under the central window, plumped up like an armchair and adorned with pillows. Perfect for napping, should he have the time for that. The furniture was curiously set up (at least it seemed curious to Stiles, whose made-up castle rooms looked very different) - the bed was right in front of the door, framed on each side by a little table. Left of the bed stood a bookcase with at least fifty beautiful leather-bound books; Stiles' fingers itched already. 

On the darker side of the door (the one further from the windows, you see) was a wardrobe. An empty one, Stiles discovered once he opened it. Well, the chests with his clothes should be on their way. On the other side stood a desk with a chair. Inquisitive as he was, Stiles opened every drawer, finding quills, parchment, several bottles of ink, envelopes and sealing wax. Writing home would not be so hard after all.

It's a great honour, his father had said before waving him off, for our family and most of all for you. But remember that it doesn't mean you have to take everything as if it was okay. And Stiles didn't mean to.

You see, for all the hyperactive person that he was, he also had this little instinct called self-preservation (the fact that he chose to act on it only half the time was a completely different thing). As the carriage had brought him through the iron-wrought main gate, he promised himself to stay out of trouble. For his sake, of course, and the sake of his father. After all, this wasn't just someone's house. It was the royal palace, with a royal family in it. One should be careful.

A knock on the door startled him.

"Yes?" He called out and watched the door open. A blond girl with a smile bigger than the whole building entered and curtsied. Erica, Stiles recalled.

"I was told to show you to the bathrooms, sir," Erica said, waiting. Stiles' brow furrowed a little. Apparently, his rank was now high enough to be worth of the title 'sir'. Life is a change, right?

"Lead the way then," Stiles smiled and followed her out of the room.

 

The journey down seemed short because, as Stiles quickly discovered, Erica was a hilarious person. Her outgoing and fearless nature made it hard for Stiles to understand why she was just a maid. If she took advantage of her talents and was given an opportunity, she could conquer the world in a day.

One thing among all of what she said struck Stiles: "We're happy you arrived safely. The carriage that came in behind you reported an ambush. There was someone going maybe thirty minutes after you, and they met an ugly end. A group of outlaws, probably. No one survived."

Stiles stayed quiet for some time, musing. He hadn't even thought about the dangers of the road while he was on it.

Erica left Stiles to scrub the dust of the journey off and went to see to her duties. And didn't come back. Which meant that Stiles, with his nonexistent sixth sense for directions, had to make his way back on his own.

Well, let's just say that until that point, he didn't fully appreciate how freakishly big the place was.

At first, he'd thought that using windows was a sure way to get back. It wasn't. When he climbed what seemed like a hundredth staircase, he sat down and breathed, silently congratulating himself. Lost on his first day. That's certainly a record. Despairing, he looked around once again and... nope. Not familiar at all.

His heart nearly tripped with joy when he heard footsteps. Getting up, he smoothed down his shirt and still damp hair. Here comes his saviour.

A man appeared from around the corner and Stiles' breath caught in his throat. The prince. The crown prince, the reason Stiles left home, stopping in his tracks once he saw Stiles standing there and his eyebrows going up.

"Prince Derek." Stiles stammered out, bowing his head in respect. The prince gave him a measured look.

"Who are you?" The prince asked.

"Stiles, my lord, of house Stilinki." Stiles' voice was tight and somewhat higher than usual. Mentally, he reprimanded himself.

"You've been Chosen."

"Yes. My lord." Stiles added hastily. He didn't want any problems with the family on the first day. Or any other day, to be honest. Because, you know. Royal family, royal dungeons. Stiles was a fragile flower, certainly not made for dampness and darkness.

"And what may you be doing in my private quarters?"

Stiles gulped. 

"I- I got lost, my lord. Er-" He stopped himself before he could blurt out her name, not wanting to get Erica in trouble. "A maid led me to the bathrooms and left and I tried to get back by myself, but I haven't been here for long and I lost my way, the keep is too big, well, not too big too big, it's very nice, you have a very nice hom-"

Derek raised his hand to silence him, green eyes cool and unimpressed. Stiles gulped again. That's it, then. He's going home. Or maybe they're locking him up for snooping into prince's privacy. Even though he wasn't snooping. But they will lock him up anyway, won't they? Oh god.

"Where is your room?" Stiles jerked in surprise. He should really stop forgetting about people when they stand right in front of him. 

Then the words caught up with him.

"What?" He blurted out. The prince raised his eyebrows again, gazing at him so long it made Stiles twitch and blush all the way down to his chest. "What I meant to say was... I am not sure? It's on the second floor and it's very... blue?" His consciousness hid its face into its hand and groaned. Very well, Stiles. Very well indeed. Description abilities of a four-year-old.

The prince stared at him intently for a while. "Follow me." He said, turning around and starting back the way he came. Stiles couldn't move any faster.

They went down a few halls, up and down staircases, all the way drawing looks like lemonade draws wasps. Stiles couldn't help but grumble. Where were all these people when he needed help? 

They were walking down the hall Stiles already remembered when his foot caught on something and he stumbled. His eyes gave him a nice slow-motion of his hands trying and succeeding in finding a leverage. 

Prince's coat.

The prince lost his balance for a moment before he stood straight again, supporting Stiles' weight. Stiles, who scrambled to his feet as quickly as possible, started to stammer out an apology.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry." His voice trembled and so did his hands which smoothed down prince's back to get rid of the creases he had made. Then he caught himself, blushing as hot as a maiden, and snatched his hands back as if he had been burnt.

Oly quiet ruled for a minute. Stiles didn't dare to breathe.

"Your room is at the end of this hallway." With those words the prince stepped around Stiles, avoiding his eyes completely, and walked away.

Stiles stood frozen on the same spot for good ten minutes before he finished his way to his room. Once in, the door safely closed, he fell down into the sheets and groaned. 

So much for not getting into trouble.


	3. 2: May Your Wish Come True

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love this chapter. Just so you know.
> 
> Enjoy xx

"I was taught how to dance, you know," Stiles scoffed indignantly at Lydia, the highest of high people concerned with royal dancing.

"Yes, you said that already, thank you very much." Stiles could hear how profoundly unimpressed she was. Whatever. He could dance. 

"Prop your arm. Straighten your back. Chin higher." Grumbling, Stiles did as he was told. A hand appeared out of nowhere and gripped at his chin. "I said higher. Your Welcoming Ball is in two days time. I'll not let you destroy my reputation by not being able to hold yourself properly in front of the whole court. Whole court." Lydia shuddered and Stiles would feel bad for her, but nope. Nope, sir. She had been torturing him for at least three hours every day to make sure his posture was perfect. 

"Shouldn't I be practising this with prince Derek?" It was a valid question, right? He wasn't going to dance all by himself.

Lydia's face tightened. "The crown prince is indisposed."

Stiles scoffed. Indisposed. They'd been feeding him this since he arrived. Truth be told, apart from that Great First Impression, as Stiles preferred to call it, he had glimpsed the prince twice (at meals only) and hadn't spoken to him at all. They had a month. A month to learn about each other and find out whether they were able to become the ruling pair. And they hadn't even properly met, and it was Stiles' fifth day in the palace.

"Well, if you see him, please tell him that although he might not have noticed, I've arrived and am looking forward to meeting him." Stiles would blush like crazy if the prince actually came, but he was sure that wasn't going to happen. Stiles just didn't feel like being dragged and sent around like an unwanted puppy. No, thank you very much.

 

"The boundaries in the north have been secure for centuries. The west, however, is dotted with skirmishes and fights. There's no war officially going on, not since The Treaty of Silkele, but the situation..." Stiles tried to pay attention. Honest to heavens, he tried. His interest in history was usually high, but today - today was just a special day. Stiles was bone tired and felt stripped to the bone and the ball was starting in a few hours and he just couldn't function properly.

Master Deaton droned on about The Treaty of Silkele while Stiles forced his eyes to stay opened. 

When, an hour later, Stiles emerged from the study, he pretty much ran for his room. A good nap and a little reading would soothe his nerves and maybe his fingers would finally stop twitching. Reaching his door, Stiles kicked them open and stopped in his tracks.

Bathed in the light of the setting sun, the crown prince was standing, his hands clasped behind his back. An unmanly sound escaped Stiles' lips.

"Prince Derek," Stiles squeaked, bowing his head in respect. His heart was beating wildly - from both surprise and... well, something else. Entirely inappropriate for now.

(Your judgment is completely invalid right now. The prince was very handsome. Shut up.)

"Stiles." Derek's voice resembled forest during the night - peaceful and beautiful and quietly dangerous. "I had hoped to see you. Lydia reminded me kindly of the fact that we were never introduced. Formally." Maybe Stiles imagined it, but Derek's lips seemed to twitch a little. "I'm Derek of house Hale, the crown prince of the Kingdom of the Hills of Beacon. It's a great pleasure to meet you." The prince stepped closer and took Stiles' right hand into his, bending his head slightly; not really bowing and never leaving Stiles' eyes. Or Stiles' flaming cheeks, for that matter.

Stiles must not say things before thinking them through excessively first.

"My lord. Stiles of house Stilinski, the Chosen." Stiles clapped himself mentally on the back for not stammering. Not. Even. Once. 

Derek eyed him curiously. Or suspiciously. Stiles never learnt how to distinct these two. 

"I had thought," said the prince somewhat reluctantly, "that we might go riding together." Stiles almost smiled at how uncomfortable Derek's face looked. 

"I don't think it's a good idea. Oh no, don't get me wrong here," Stiles added hastily when the prince kind of... deflated. "I'd love to go. I just don't think it's appropriate."

"Appropriate?" The prince drew his brows together. "It may be you weren't told, but it's possible that in a month's time we will stand next to each other in a chapel."

Stiles barely suppressed a chuckle. "I meant because of the ball."

It was so, so worth it to see the previously cold and stoic man blush like a maiden.

The prince coughed awkwardly, clearly concealing his uneasiness. When he spoke again, his voice was tight. "Well, yes, on that matter... as you mentioned before-" Stiles gulped heavily "-we should probably try at least one dance together before the ball." Stiles sighed in relief. Better than he thought it would be.

But still kinda bad.

"Should- should we do it now?" Stiles asked. It's always better to know.

The prince blinked at him. Stiles blinked right back.

"Now?" The prince sounded a bit... distraught. Coughing, Stiles cleared his throat. God, it was all so awkward.

"We don't have to, of course. Well, we have to, eventually, but if you feel more comfortable waiting up until before the ball, we can go riding, then take time for the preparations, and then try it. But personally I think it would be better to do it now because if it doesn't work out, we will still have three hours to fix it." Stiles was proud of his logic, yes, thank you very much. He was a mastermind, a genius, he should've gone for the maester - oh, stop right there. That life would've killed him within a week.

For a second, the prince considered, then nodded slowly. "You are right. Well then." He stepped away from Stiles - their hands were still clasped and Stiles didn't even notice, how did that happen - and lifted their arms up, placing his palm against Stiles'. 

They stood awkwardly, facing each other, not moving a single bit. Finally, Stiles couldn't stand the quiet.

"Um. Well. I guess we should decide, like, who's the girl?" The look the prince gave him could freeze a pot of boiling water in a matter of seconds. "Okay! I'm the girl, no worries!" It was quiet again for a few second. (Very long seconds, if Stiles was being completely honest.) "You should lead then, right?" Stiles lifted his gaze towards the man in front of him.

The man was worrying on his lower lip and promptly stopped when he caught Stiles looking.

"Yes. All right, let's start." The prince had a very determined look on his face.

It took all of Stiles' will to stifle the laughter that was bubbling up his throat. 

"One, two, three," the prince counted and Stiles felt a tug on his hand as he was dragged forward and stumbled. Don't blame him, okay, he had been dancing all by himself up until now, he was not used to other people counting up his dance moves.

"Sorry. Can we start over? My lord." Stiles added. He still wasn't sure as to what he should call his maybe-future-husband. Said maybe-future-husband furrowed his eyebrows.

"You should call me Derek. Especially at the ball. People are going to watch us like the court sensation we are, and things such as these get noticed easily."

"Things such as these?" Stiles' frowned.

"What we call each other. How we touch. When we touch. When we look and in what way we react to one another. One day, we may be the ones who run this kingdom. We need to work out better than cooks during the war."

Stiles snorted. "Have you really just compared our possible marriage to war kitchens?"

"Say what you may," Derek replied, "but no war has ever been won with hungry soldiers. As has no marriage ever worked out without the wife being a good cook."

"If you think I'm going to cook for you, you're terribly wrong." Stiles grinned at the prince - Derek - and made a curious step forward, pushing Derek a step back. "I would accidentally poison you just making a cup of warm milk." Derek pressed their palms closer together and took the lead, switching places with Stiles. Their feet moved as if connected by invisible threads, and they danced.

"Good for me I can make my own, then," Derek smiled and Stiles mind tripped - no, seriously, tripped - at the sight. That simple small thing lit up Derek's whole face, smoothed out the lines on his forehead, made his eyes shine more green than grey. A second slipped from him and he panicked a little, afraid of losing rhythm, and ironically enough, it was that thought that made him slip and misstep. His foot landed on Derek's and they both stumbled, Derek saving Stiles from falling pretty much the same as he had when Stiles had got lost and almost knocked himself out in the hallway.

An 'oof' was all that Derek said when Stiles landed heavily on his chest. Immediately Stiles felt arms close around his waist and hold him tight.

"Are you all right?" Derek asked so softly it made Stiles look up and stare. They were so very close.

"Yeah. Thank you." Stiles breathed. He was lost, like, all the way; he couldn't feel his feet, or his hands, or pretty much anything, for that matter.

And he could also feel himself edging towards something disastrous. Which. No.

Stiles braced himself on Derek's chest and pushed away, laughing shakily. "Well, we can definitely dance together. The whole court will be ashamed of themselves once they lay eyes on us." 

Derek's dazed look (Stiles may be exaggerating a little bit, but hey, who cares) changed into a huff and another smile.

"You better hope they don't, or else they will see the stumble you've just performed." Derek silenced the indignant huff that came from Stiles with a raised hand. "Want to go on that ride?"


	4. 3: Dance & Endure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a padding chapter, but it's needed.
> 
> Enjoy x

Stiles was sweltering.

The room - hall - was noisy, packed with people and so hot you could boil water for tea just by letting the kettle stand in the middle of the dance floor.

Which was, sadly enough, where Stiles stood.

The ride had been nice. Stiles hadn't properly left the castle since he arrived and he hadn't even noticed how much he missed the wind and sun and grass and forests and... well, you get the essence. They might've spent an hour out there and, surprisingly, no awkward silence ensued after their trainy-worky thing in Stiles' bedroom. Derek had smiled, talked, even joked once, Stiles would swear that on any Holy that was out there. 

Well, they had been saving that for the ball, it would seem.

One would think, that after that speech Derek had given him, _What we call each other. How we touch. When we touch. When we look and in what way we react to one another_ and all that, he would at least look straight at Stiles. But no. Nope, sir, not once. Whole evening. Even when they led the first dance together (which had been a blast, thank you for asking, all of the court had gaped just as Stiles thought they would). Only since then, Derek had lurked either on his throne, beside it or in its immediate vicinity. Stiles was sure he was doing that on purpose, as it left only Stiles to deal with the nosy, braggy and sleazy creatures that had been invited. Stiles made a point of learning all their names so he could scratch them out of the invitation lists later.

Some were nice, though. This one kid, Scott of the McCall Lake County, had nearly talked his ear off in the most entertaining manner. It had been as if a puppy was over-excitedly yapping next to him. It was weirdly endearing and pleasant, because once Stiles stopped the initial waterfall of words, they actually had a good conservation. Stiles even, in one of his lighthearted moments, proceeded as far as inviting Scott over the next day. Then he remembered it wasn't exactly his place to invite anyone over, so he apologized profoundly and promised to send an envoy later when he discussed it all with Derek. Or someone.

Talking on the topic, Stiles had finally met the rest of the family. Queen Talia and King Michael had returned from their journey just in time for the ball, arriving while Stiles and Derek had been out. Princess Laura also returned that morning, leaving behind the political affairs in The Boydian County to see her little brother (as she fondly and teasingly called Derek when she had met them on the stairs; Derek blushed like a maiden) dance and socialize. Not that he was doing a good job of it. 

Princess Cora had been in the castle the whole time, but somehow - Stiles personally thinks intentionally - they had never bumped into each other. Not on the meals, nor in the lessons or the courtyard or the bathrooms. Then again, the place was enormous. Half the army could roam the hallways and no one would notice.

"What do you think?" asked the girl Stiles was dancing with. God, here we go again with the forgetting about people who stand right in front of him.

"Excuse me, my lady?" 

"The Prince. What do you make of him?" Stiles gulped. Darek had warned him about questions like these. Up to this point, Stiles had deflected them with jokes and slightly ironic declarations whispered as if a secret. But here, when the girl was in his arms, looking up with an innocently curious face, Stiles knew anything could slip from his mouth if he wasn't cautious enough. 

"We will make a good pair, I think. Since I'm the one who always talks, we tend to not have arguments." 

"But isn't a bit of arguing a good thing?" inquired the girl. Stiles should've remembered her name.

"I suppose it is. But so far there hasn't been anything for us to argue about." Stiles smiled. "Maybe later, when we get to the serious things."

Opening her mouth again, doubtlessly to ask another question, she pressed a little closer to him. Stiles gave a surprised look and widened the gap between them, as to not give fertile ground to any seeds of rumours. She came in again, but this time, the song ended. Relieved, Stiles bowed to kiss the girl's hand and with "It was a pleasure, my lady" he escaped to the security of a little chamber hidden behind a heavy velvet curtain. Stiles had found it on one exceptionally stumbly morning, when he took the long way to the dining hall, tripped over his feet and tried to save the fall by reaching his hand out to what he thought was a wall covered with curtains. To his great surprise, his hand went right through it, as did the rest of his body a second later. 

Back then, he cursed to the Hell and back, but right now, he couldn't be more grateful for that little piece of peace. It might've been slightly dusty and dark, but apart from that, it was excellent. 

Stiles made himself comfortable on a plush chair in the darkest corner and rested his head back. He felt the beginnings of a headache and groaned.

And nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard an echo nearly as loud as his.

"What in the Hell," Stiles whispered. Nearly indistinguishable murmur returned back. Stepping forward carefully, Stiles found himself in a confined space hidden behind a curiously bended wall. Standing in the room itself, you wouldn't notice it unless you knew perfectly where to look. Stiles fit in just so, anyone bigger would have to wedge themselves in and risk getting stuck.

"Excuse me, my lady, might I just ask whether you have seen Stiles?" Derek's voice wafted through the wall as if it was made of paper. Stiles honest-to-god gaped. So it was true, what they said of castles! There must be hundreds of peek-and-hear places like this one. God knew Stiles was going to make it his personal quest to find others.

"The Chosen One, my prince? Tall, lanky, pale?" 

"That one exactly."

"He was dancing just a minute ago, my prince. Then he disappeared as quickly as smoke."

"Thank you, my lady."

Stiles should get back before they really start looking. Slipping quietly out of the hiding place and through the curtain, he promised himself to come back when he had a moment to spare. Might be there was a tunnel leading from it.

Melting into the crowd was easy. Nearly three hundred people had assembled in the Great Hall, all of them dressed in their best clothes and best manners, just like Stiles. Not even five seconds after he re-emerged, a hand clasped his shoulder. Turning around, Stiles found himself face to face with Princess Laura. Evilly smirking Princess Laura.

"It would be considered a great dishonour not to take your future sister-in-law onto the dancefloor." 

"You might not become my sister-in-law, my lady. All is yet to be seen." Nonetheless, Stiles held his hand out for Laura to take. She did.

"You don't need to talk to me like that, I'm not a seventy-year-old uptight duchess." She grinned widely at him, making her way through the crowd.

"One can never be sure." Getting into the position, they started dancing, whirling and sidestepping, and soon enough people cleared away before them. The song then slowed down and they fell into an easy rhythm.

"Now," Laura began. "Time for The Big Sister Talk."

Stiles let out a whine. A quiet one, of course, because no one wants a person like Laura to know that they're uncomfortable.

She heard him anyway.


	5. 4: Smile And Sleep, Darling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here we are again. It's been a hella long week and if it was stressful, I hope that this will make it better. Enjoy xx

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ending of the last chapter: 
> 
> "Now," Laura began. "Time for The Big Sister Talk."
> 
> Stiles let out a whine. A quiet one, of course, because no one wants a person like Laura to know that they're uncomfortable.
> 
> She heard him anyway.

Despite Stiles' best efforts, their time together was way longer then he'd wish. When they finished, nearly half the guests had already left, making the Great Hall look pretty much empty. Stiles led Laura to the dais and left her there with a kiss on the back of her hand, all the time searching silently for Derek. They needed to talk. Laura must have noticed, because once he wished her a good night, she pulled him close and whispered into his ear: "He's on the back balcony, second floor."

So Stiles went to the second floor, found a beautifully carved glass door that took him right out there to the cold late evening (early morning?) air. He didn't notice Derek at first, being still blind from all the light inside, but once his eyes adjusted, he saw him looming over the railing, looking out into the darkness. In the distance, several lights twinkled - the last houses of the capital city, Stiles guessed.

"Derek?" Stiles said quietly, not wanting to disturb any stream of thought that was carrying Derek away, but also needing to snap him out of his daze

Just as expected, Derek startled. It looked pretty hilarious to Stiles, seeing such a bulk of a man get scared by a simple, quietly-spoken word. 

"Stiles?" Half of Derek's face was still hidden in the shadow. "Has it finished?"

"The ball? Yes." Stiles took a tentative step towards Derek. There was something about him that triggered his 'beware' alarm. Like some tension coiled in the air about him, waiting for a cause to snap.

"Come here," Derek said, extending his hand towards Stiles. Warily, Stiles took it and let himself be pulled towards the railing.

"That's the Lower Quarter down there," Derek said, pointing his finger at the lights Stiles had seen a moment before. "If we become the ruling pair, that's going to be where the ceremony will take place." He turned slightly to the left. The corner of the building now revealed another couple of lights. "That's the Deer's Valley. Our summer residence lies right behind it. We will be going there in a few days." Turning again, Derek ended up facing the castle wall. He squeezed Stiles' hand gently to get his attention fully. Stiles looked up and was surprised to see some kind of vulnerability in Derek's features.

"The Royal Hill, the centre of the kingdom," Derek followed. Stiles wanted to complain that he was not stupid, thank you very much, but Derek's lifted hand stopped him.

"And your home." 

Stiles felt as if someone slapped him. 

Of course he knew this castle was supposed to be his home, if not for ever than at least for those four short weeks of his stay. But the way Derek said it reminded him of what his mother used to say when he was little. _No matter where you go, this place will always be your home._

"Why would you say that?" Stiles asked, voice trembling slightly, which. What. He was not made of ice and sugar. Something like this was not supposed to bother him to this level.

"Because it's true. And because you seem to not know that." Derek looked so very open it hurt Stiles to watch him. "You can roam this space freely, including the gardens. You don't have to wait for me or anybody else to go out with you, for a walk, for a ride." Well, maybe Stiles looked too happy this morning. "You can invite your friends over. As long as they behave properly, they are welcome." Scott. Scott must've gone and asked Derek about a visit before Stiles had a chance to do so. 

Derek clasped his hands even tighter. They were now standing face to face, Derek looking down a little, Stiles gazing up. 

It was all so strange.

Like, see, Stiles wasn't used to this. Not used to exquisite velvet doublets, to marble balconies, to incredibly-looking princes looming over him, nor to the fact that said princes were holding his hands and whispering silent words.

Whispering silent words?

"Excuse me?" Stiles asked dumbly. Derek's eyebrows climbed up his forehead, then he closed his eyes for a second.

"It's nothing."

Sure. 

"No, really, I'm sorry. I just... lost myself." Derek snorted a little, making Stiles feel relieved. He smiled widely, some kind of sudden joyfulness enveloped him like a blanket. He felt almost as if he was flying. "What is it?" He asked again, this time with undertones of mad happiness. Somebody must've slipped something into his drink, really.

Or maybe it was just genetics.

Stiles laughed out aloud and blinked in astonishment when he heard Derek laughing as well. This night was so much better than what he had expected. Slipping his arms around Derek, he pulled him in, fitting their bodies together. As he pushed himself up on his tiptoes to rest his head on Derk's shoulder, he felt Derek slide his hand around his waist. 

And that was it. All nice and content and cozy, they stood there until it occured to Stiles what he had just done. Was still doing.

_I'm hugging the prince. Why am I hugging the prince?_

Well. Chronologically, or in alphabetical order?

First of all, it was nice. And warm. And smelled safe, whichever smell safety had. And the steady beating of Derek's heart was like a lullaby to Stiles' tired ears. He pressed his face into the crook of Derek's neck, making himself comfortable.

Stiles felt the vibrations when Derek let out a gentle laugh.

"You should go to bed before you fall asleep on me."

Stiles whined. "I don't want to. I'm perfectly happy in your arms, my dear maybe-husband-to-be." 

Derek snorted. "Come on." He pulled Stiles closer and dragged him carefully towards the door inside. Once in, Derek pretty much carried Stiles through the hallways. Everything was deserted, the last remnants of the ball having been swept and cleaned and carried away. 

"Why do we put up with you, honestly?" Derek grunted as they made their way up the stairs.

"Because there's no one more fit to fill this place than I am," Stiles mumbled sleepily.

Derek was silent for a moment. "That's true, I guess. Among the hundred people, you stood out the most."

"Was that a compliment, your Grace?"

"Please don't," Derek said. "And yes, it kind of was."

Stiles heard a door being opened and a few seconds later, he was laid gingerly on the sheets. A pair of hands - Derek's, most like - got his shoes off, and then the doublet and breeches. Stiles blinked his eyes open.

"Why don't you just call someone to do that? I know there's only about a hundred maids who could do that instead of you, but, you know. One of them is bound to be free."

Derek lifted his gaze and smiled somewhat sheepishly. "You can't blame me for wanting to touch. After all, as you said, you're my maybe-husband-to-be."

Stiles snorted and closed his eyes again. "Right. Well, enjoy the ride. I'm going to be asleep in, like, thirty seconds, so..."

"Suit yourself."

Stiles smiled and let the sleep wash over him like waves wash over the shore. Before he slipped into utter darkness, he felt lips press onto his own.


	6. 5: Farewells To The Castle

The next morning was a mess. The horse-whinning, babies-crying, people-panicking kind of mess that drew you in and held as long as it could.

The deal was that some surely clever person had scheduled Derek's and his departure for the summer residence - the Silver Sunshine, really, who named a house like that - on the same day most of their guests were leaving. The courtyard was full of carriages, dogs, children, maids moving chests of clothes, other servants bringing food for the journey, and among them the highborn lords and ladies, who tried to get to their own carriages. To no avail.

The royal carriage stood apart a little, mostly because no one wanted to get in the way of the royal family. Which included Stiles now, apparently, because everyone shied away from him as if he was infected with the plague.

God bless Stiles didn't have to pack his own things. They wouldn't have left in a fortnight if he did. Erica had appeared again, folded everything in place, so nothing would get wrinkled, and then led him out of the castle to show him to his carriage. That had been forty minutes ago, and, hello, Stiles was a hyperactive sort of person, you couldn't expect him to stay in one place for so long.

"Stiles?" A tentative voice called from behind him. Turning around, Stiles came face to face with the girl that had been dancing with him last night. The tactile one. 

"Yes, my lady?" Stiles really should've made the effort to remember her name. Because this might get awkward very quickly. 

"I was wondering whether I could ask you- invite you- to our residence. I know you are very busy, what with the Choosing month and all, but I enjoyed our yesterday's encounter supremely and would be very pleased if we should meet again. Also, my parents would like to get a chance of speaking with you."

"Well..." Stiles was honestly speechless. "As you said, I do not have much time to spare right now. But should anything change, I'll be glad to pay you a visit."

"Stiles!" For the second time, Stiles turned around and saw Derek coming - stalking - his way. There was something in his posture that spoke volumes about his current state of mind. Raging, that is. "I thought Erica showed you into our carriage."

"That she did," Stiles answered, somewhat petulantly. He wasn't a child, and Derek's scolding tone was making him seem like one. "But as the day is beautiful and the courtyard provides much more entertainment than the lonely inside of the carriage, I decided to take a look around."

Derek looked as if he swallowed a lemon. Or dozen. "All right then." He eyed the girl like he could bite her head off and not regret it even a little. "Lady Allison. Pray excuse us."

So that was her name. Finally.

Allison seemed disappointed to leave them, but leave she did. With: "I hope to see you soon, Stiles. Have a safe journey," she disappeared into the chaos that was the courtyard.

Stiles set his eyes upon Derek, who looked as if he was carved from stone. His gaze was glued to the spot where Allison vanished. It took nearly a minute before he returned his attention towards Stiles.

Very upset Stiles.

"Why did you do that?" 

"Do what?" Derek answered gruffly, obviously not concerned at all.

"Chase her away! She was just being polite! She even invited us - well, me - to her home!" All the while Stiles was speaking, he also took careful notice of Derek's facial expressions. His features melted from simply careless to slightly alarmed to outright panicky-angry.

"What did you tell her?" 

"That right about now I don't have time, but should I stay in here for longer" - the _for-life_ part went unsaid - "I'd gladly come."

Derek looked as if someone slapped him. Then he composed himself, eyes angry. "That would be highly inappropriate."

Stiles snorted. 

"Inappropriate? I wouldn't be coming alone. At least I hope so." Stiles' eyes widened. "Or you'd leave me to go alone?" It's not like Stiles cared. He was perfectly capable of going places all by himself (well, if you don't count the packing up thing; apart from that, he was perfectly capable). The point of this was, he wanted to see how would Derek react to the proposal.

Derek growled. "Of course not." 

Relief washed over Stiles. 

"Because you're not going anywhere," Derek whispered very, very quietly.

And anger. Lots of it.

"Excuse me? I'm happy to remind you that just yesterday you've told me I'm free to roam the place and ride out. Don't you go against yourself now."

Derek's face contorted. "Yes, I've said that. But not a word about crossing the kingdom's boundaries."

"Boundaries?" Stiles asked, bewildered. "I thought she's from some county." 

"She's from the west. The Kingdom of Silver, ruled by the House Argent." West. West. That part rang some bells in Stiles' mind. Maester Deaton had talked about that, hadn't he?

"That's the place you're not on good terms with, isn't it?"

Stiles might've just imagined it, but Derek looked somewhat stiffer all of the sudden. When he spoke again, his voice was careful. "You could say that."

"What's the deal anyway? She seemed nice. Her family can't be that different."

Derek forced a smile. There was plainly something fishy going on. "You needn't worry about that. It's not important."

Hell if Stiles was going to drop the subject now. "Well, if it's unimportant, you might as well tell me."

"Well..."

"Derek!" 

Derek turned around quicker than usually, obviously glad to have an excuse to end their conversation. He didn't know Stiles well, then, otherwise he'd have known that Stiles wasn't going to stop sniffling around it until he found the answer. He might be ruling this place in some three weeks. He had a right to know, hadn't he?

"Yes, Cora?"

Maybe if he was nice enough, Cora would tell him. What wouldn't a girl do for a compliment or two, right?

"Good morning to you, Princess Cora! You look exceptionally splendid." Stiles' cheery voice trampled Derek's question to the ground. "How are you feeling on this particularly beautiful day?"

Derek and Cora both stared at him as if he had suddenly grown a second head.

"Well, I'm good, thank you," Cora answered tentatively. Plainly wondering if Stiles lost his mind at some point during the night. "Derek, the carriage shall be leaving within the next ten minutes. Mother wanted to check if you had everything you need for your journey."

The bells in Stiles' head chimed loudly. Something was slightly off with the sentence. "Our journey? You mean you will not be coming?"

Cora smiled slyly. "Oh, we will. Just not today. We shall get in in two, three days from now when all the necessities are dealt with. Mother and Father have some business to catch up to, and Laura and I have some important things to do. Today, just the two of you are leaving."

Well, that was certainly unexpected.

And fricking scary, what was Stiles supposed to do with Derek, alone at some unknown place, for two or - God forbid - _three days_? Somebody should've told him. He would've prepared a timetable. Found maps of the surroundings and looked for interesting places to visit and planned a trip or sixty. What if they just sit next to each other in awkward silence all that time?

Stiles gave Derek a slightly panicked, but overall more accusing look. "Could've told me, couldn't you?"

Derek had at least the grace to blush. Even if it was just a little. "I didn't know until this morning. I forgot to let you know."

Not Derek's evil plan, then. Cora's, more like, from the way she was grinning mischievously. 

Stiles sighed. "Okay. What are we waiting for, then? All my things are already inside the carriage. And if you don't need anything..."

Derek shook his head. "No, we can go." He turned to Cora. "Give Mother and Father our farewells."

"Of course. Have a safe journey and tell Jennifer I'll be coming." Cora gave a genuine smile. Then her face got darker and devilish. "Have fun!" 

"Thanks," Stiles mumbled as he watched her return to the castle and followed after Derek towards the carriage. Gods be good.


	7. 6: Warm & Weird

The ride took eons, Stiles would swear it on any deity that was up there. Like, they had started off around ten o'clock in the morning. It was nearing sundown. 

Well, not sundown, but it took a damn long time, is what Stiles was saying.

It had seemed so close yesterday's evening, when Derek showed him. The lights had been, like, three miles away, no more. Well, as it turned out, it was way farther.

For the first hour, Stiles had interested himself in the countryside. On his way to the castle, he has seen a lot, but as their way led closer to the sea instead of back to the heart of the kingdom, the views were different. Not much, mind you, but still. It was something. 

Certainly better than Derek's silence.

Derek had been quiet ever since they had sat down in the carriage. Stiles had tried to spark up a conversation about the weather (hey, it's not that bad when you're desperate!). Silence. About family. Silence. About the Kingdom of Silver. 

That got him a reaction. A growl like a dangerous animal and look that would make trees in bud wither to dried up skeletons. Stiles had done his best to keep to himself since then.

Bud Gods, was it hard. Especially since he knew that Derek talked when he wanted. And the fact that Derek was pretty much choosing to not talk to Stiles hurt more than Stiles would've expected. 

Speaking of hurting. Stiles' ass hurt like hell. All the sitting was making him antsy. His ass and his brain. If there were the opportunity, both things would be shaking it towards some adventure (not at all exciting and probably very stupid; but at least he wouldn't be sitting _here_ ).

"When shall we reach the... place again?" Stiles had asked several times already. Derek answered each time, and each time it sounded more irritated.

"Half an hour," Derek grumbled.

Right. Stiles could sit for thirty more minutes.

 

Or maybe not. Gods, how he yearned to get up, this was driving him mad, when would they finally reach-

"When will w-"

"We're here." There was a lot of relief in Derek's voice. In Stiles' too, when he let out a soft: "Finally."

Once the carriage stopped, Stiles jumped out as if his life depended on it, stretching, and letting out small sounds of pleasure. Derek stepped out as well, looking around in the way people usually look at their home when they return from a long journey.

The grey brick building was a lot smaller than Stiles expected. It was supposed to accommodate whole royal family, several servants and guests, if need be. As it was, it looked to be able to house no more than ten people.

Derek probably sensed his concern, because he said: "This is just the main building. It's pretty much all kitchens, one hall and some rooms for the maids. We will be a short way downhill."

"What do you mean, downh-," Stiles began but stopped himself in the middle. They stood at the top of very gentle slope. A pathway led towards something like houses of the common people, a tiny village. It was all grey stone with blue painted windows and dark wood door that led inside every cottage. It seemed like something you would find in children stories.

"My great-great-grandfather built it in the fashion of his hometown. He was the Choosen as well. In his time, the kingdom prospered greatly, that's why no one complained about spending so much money on such a folly. This one is ours." Derek led him to the one that stood on the very left side. The door was open, as were the windows. Apparently, some good soul prepared a home them.

"Why folly?" Stiles asked incredulously, passing through the door. Inside, it was surprisingly spacious and full of light.

"Well, as you might see, this isn't exactly a royal building, nothing to show when you want to impress. Nor is it religious. Even when there's no lack of finance, we should not spend where it's not needed. It might come in handy when the times are not so kind."

Stiles' nose wrinkled. "Well... responsible. Also, boring. And," he added quickly when he saw Derek open his mouth, doubtlessly to object, "if everyone kept to that rule, none of the grand monuments would stand today. There'd be no Spring Palace, no Tower of Vision, no Red Cathedral. These are not royal nor religious, and yet, this kingdom would miss out a great deal if they weren't there."

Derek sighed. "I know that. But I still stand behind what I said about needless expenditure."

"We will have to agree to disagree, then," Stiles grinned. "Now, show me this place. If I'm to spend some time here, I need to know all the good hiding places, in case your sister decides to have the talk again."

 

"Ow, ow, _ow_ ," Stiles moaned as he walked into their cabin, searching desperately for a comfortable place to sit. Or just any place to sit, really. "Remind me to not ever ask for a show-around again."

The residence was _huge_. As in _insanely colossal_. Meadows and meadows upon forests and gardens with flowers and artfully clipped trees and then a lake and then another meadow. Like, how is this even possible. How is this all _kept in order_? There must be an army of gardeners and orchardists.

But it had been amazing. They had strolled and ran and even danced in one case, when Stiles got overcome by a sudden wave of excitement and optimism, pulled Derek close and waltzed - no, seriously, waltzed - his way across a bridge that led over the lake. The look on Derek's face had been priceless.

Derek smiled widely, looking as happy as Stiles had ever seen him. "Don't be a baby."

"Baby? Me? Never." Derek was infectious like this, as if he had absorbed all of the sunlight they walked in and it was lighting him up somehow. Stiles couldn't help but smile as well. 

"Come on." Derek extended his hand towards Stiles. "It's time for dinner. Jennifer prepared something for us, and she did it herself, which means we're going to get so stuffed we won't be able to move afterwards."

"Darling," Stiles said, "after that journey, a horse would not be sufficient." He took Derek's hand and let himself be pulled up. He was more tired than he had thought or Derek pulled with more force than needed, either way, he tripped and stumbled, landing heavily on Derek's chest. They were both so surprised they forgot to breathe for a second, staring at each other as if it was the first time.

And it was, of kind. For one, Stiles didn't remember Derek's eyes as cloudy as they were now, nor that the stubble made his face look that much sharper.

"Sorry," Stiles whispered, but made no move to pull back.

"You seem to be in a bad habit of falling on me on every occasion," Derek said and Stiles averted his eyes, blushing upon the reminder of their first meeting when Stiles had got lost on his way from the bathrooms. And the time when they had danced together for the first time in preparation for the Welcoming Ball. He blushed even more when Derek grazed the tips of his fingers along his cheek and lifted his chin up. Stiles took a breath to calm his frantic heartbeat. Warm lips pressed into his. A soft sound escaped Stiles just as a surprised one echoed from Derek. 

_That's weird_ , Stiles thought to himself, _we know each other for barely a week._ But then Derek bit his lower lip and clasped tightly on his hip, and any thought Stiles might have had disappeared into nothing. With a deep exhale, Stiles run his hand up Derek's side and to his neck, carding his fingers through Derek's hair, feeling him shudder. It was so, so quiet without all the noises that were common in the Royal Hill. Here, only wind could interrupt the stillness.

Derek broke away, resting his forehead on Stiles'. His hand dropped from Stiles' side to grasp his hand.

"Come on," Derek said quietly. "Dinner."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, right?


	8. 7. Memorable Moments

Stiles knew it was coming. He knew it. He could feel it rising in him all throughout the dinner - which was just as delicious as Derek had suggested, by the way - all the tell-tale signs, the tension and slight twitch in his fingers and the chattiness, most of all.

The freak out was on its way. 

So when they had finished their meal, Stiles excused himself and went for a walk. That got him several concerned glances from Derek, especially after what he had said when they returned from the show-around. But Stiles didn't care. Just the thought of going back to the cabin seemed ridiculous. 

What's so bad about a kiss, you ask? Well, kids, take a seat and listen. This may take a while.

First, it came unexpectedly. Out of the blue. Boom. Stiles knew they had to get down to the business some day, but he sure as Hell didn't expect it to be so soon. A kiss might lead to other things. Which leads us to:

Second, what was he supposed to do now? Is he expected to go back and smile and kiss Derek on regular basis? In front of other people even? His family? Heavens, just the thought of what Laura's face would look like gave him goosebumps.

and:

Third, Stiles had never done anything of the sort. The... intimate sort of thing? Thinking of it made him blush spectacularly, imagine if he was confronted with... it. In person. Stiles mentally slapped himself for acting like a fourteen-year-old maiden, but it wasn't like he could control it. He was a tad bit scared, kind of excited and a lot embarrassed. For what exactly, he couldn't tell. (The excitement. Definitely for the excitement.)

So, what now? Should he escape the city? Flee what he was supposed to face? Or just face it?

Heavens, life was so hard sometimes.

Stiles exhaled, shaking his head as if that would help with getting rid of his thoughts. Then he said: "Get yourself together," and went back.

The cabin was dark except for a single candle that burnt on the table at his side of the bed. Derek's shape was visible underneath all the covers that guarded him from the chill that crept from the stones. It seemed so peaceful Stiles found himself just enjoying the scenery. This could be his normal life some day. If he stayed. If Derek wanted him to stay. He would come to the bedroom every night and find this man - his husband - in the bed, sleeping or waiting for him. The idea hurt, for some reason.

"Why don't you lay down?" Derek's sleep-slurred voice broke the spell. It was just a room. And this was the crown prince.

"I'm coming. Just a minute." A wave of worry came over Stiles. Should he strip his clothes off and stay like that? Or should he find the nightshirt? Stiles didn't feel like being... exposed, so to speak. So he dug up the nightshirt from his suitcase - making a mess of all the clothes that Erica had so carefully folded - and took off his shoes, breeches and overcoat, pulled down his shirt.

"What happened to you?" 

Stiles nearly jumped out of his skin. Looking up quickly, he found Derek leaning on his elbows, staring at him in a manner that wasn't as sleepy as Stiles would have it be. The man was a shadow, Stiles would swear on any Holy that was out there. The sheets hadn't rustled, the bed hadn't creaked, the candle flame hadn't wavered and still Derek was in another position than he had been a mere minute ago, suddenly perfectly awake.

"What?" Stiles hated that his voice sounded so squeaky. But he wasn't surprised. His heart was still beating faster than he felt comfortable with.

"That scar. On your hip. What happened to you?" Stiles' eyes fell down to where Derek's gaze was settled. 

"Oh. That." He pretty much forgot about the thin silvery-white line that led from his navel to his left hip. It didn't hurt, you could barely feel it if you touched it. And pale as he was at this time of the year, it wasn't even properly visible. Stiles gulped at the prospect of Derek taking him in carefully enough to actually notice something like that. "I don't really know. It has always been there. I never thought to ask."

Stiles saw Derek's eyebrows rising, and smiled.

"Don't give me that look. I was a curious child and have gotten more scratches than you could count. I suppose I just fell somewhere."

Derek snorted. "That actually sounds likely. I wouldn't put it past you."

"Well, we can't all be graceful, can we?" Stiles said, partly in good humor, partly grumbling.

"I guess." Derek's smile softened. "Put that on and get yourself here."

With a surprised breath, Stiles realized that all the while that they spoke, he had been standing there mostly naked, in fact, just in his smallclothes and a nightshirt clutched in his hand. His instinct hadn't even prompted him to pull it in front of his chest.

But then again, his instincts were always like a bad friend. Constantly betraying him.

"Y- Yeah." Flushing - all the way to his chest, if what he felt was true - he stretched the fabric over his head and padded towards the bed. His hands trembled slightly when he climbed in, but he still felt calmer than he did a half an hour before. 

Making himself comfortable among the covers, Stiles let out a pleased hum as he felt the warmth start seeping into his bones. He also felt Derek's hand slip around his hip.

His breath caught in his throat as he stilled. But that was it. Derek's warm palm rested almost on his skin, reassuring and... nice, to be honest.

Stiles pushed his face deeper into the pillow and let himself drift off.

 

"Stiles. Wake up. Wake up, Stiles." A gentle voice cut its way through Stiles' sleep-mudded brain, and he groaned.

"Whassit?" Stiles mumbled, worming deeper into the covers, so as to not let any of the warmth get lost.

"You have to wake up. We're going to the Cliffs, to see the sunrise."

"Can't we go later? Also, there's no sea nearby."

"There will be no sunrise later. And it's a... different type of cliffs."

"So send the sun a royal letter with compliant and say it would be much better if it kept low for a few more hours." Stiles could hear Derek chuckling and then there was a hand on his shoulder, turning him face up, and another one tugging down the covers. Shivering against the morning chill, Stiles blinked his eyes open to stare reluctantly at Derek.

"But we can go tomorrow, can't we?" 

"No," Derek said. "Tonight, my family is arriving and tomorrow morning we have to be on breakfast with them. There wouldn't be enough time to get back." Derek got hold of Stiles' waist and pulled him upwards, all to Stiles' loud protests (and quickened heartbeat).

"Well... uh." The movement brought them close together and Stiles couldn't help but remember the last time they were this near. Derek's face was painted in shadows, both from the candle that stood lit on the table and the first signs of the sun coming up. It did weird things to Derek's eyes which did weird things to Stiles' emotional self-control.

"Come on. It's beautiful. I know you'll like it." Derek smiled a soft smile that made Stiles' heart jump just a little. It felt nice. It felt convenient. So Stiles leaned in, pecked Derek on the lips (just pecked, because even his courage had its limits) and then quickly withdrew, getting up and rummaging through his clothes to find something suitable for such an early hour.

"Have you been outside already?" Stiles asked, pretending he was not currently experiencing an internal freak-out. "Is it cold out there?"

"Yeah...," Derek's voice wafted to him from where he was still sat on the bed. He sounded kind of dumbfounded. Stiles didn't know how to feel about that. "Um, no, it's quite all right."

It took them another twenty minutes before they were ready to depart. Jennifer had kindly packed a basket of food for their breakfast and added a few blankets, which Stiles found very handy once they reached the Cliffs, an epitome of wind in its strongest. To Stiles' relief, Derek had - obviously - been there before and therefore knew the best place to have both the view and comfort. There was a little something in the rock, not exactly a cave, more like a crevice with wide opening, that provided shelter from the piercing wind and offered a breathtaking scene of the sun rising behind the mountain tops and shedding its light into the valley, unveiling stream that ended in a small lake, oak trees so big even Stiles's great-grandfather wouldn't remember them being mere seeds.

They sat there side by side underneath a blanket, watching the world come alive. Eventually, Stiles' head laid down on Derek's shoulder, and Derek's hand found Stiles'. The silence would be deafening, but the wind still blew and then the birds started singing and there just was no need for words. They ate the breakfast, watched some more and then went to the carriage.

 _Memorable moments_ , Stiles thought to himself as they rattled on the stone road back.


	9. 8: Explorations and Surprises

The rest of the day went without anything remarkable. Looking back to where Stiles had dreaded the awkward-silence moments, it seemed almost laughable now that Stiles had ever thought something like that. The vast space and possibilities of the residence ensured there was always something to do or talk about. Stiles, the curious person he was, wanted to know everything there was to know about the place. When it was built, how long did it take, what had happened here, all that in the theoretical part, and then in the practical, he scouted every hall, room, and corridor. The attic was particularly interesting, as all the rubble and unused things from the past decades piled high in there. It consisted of various books, paintings, damaged doors propped against the walls and cracked cups in cracked cupboards, dolls and kites and tiny tin soldiers.

When Stiles emerged from up there, it took Jennifer just one look on his dusty clothes to send him uncompromisingly to his cabin for clean ones. Then she prepared him a bath and watched over until he scrubbed himself shiny. He felt as if he was being scolded like a little child, in a quiet way, and found it unnecessarily hilarious.

After that, there was the library - very small compared to the one in Royal Hill - and the stables, the lake with its boat, and kitchens. Those looked and smelled amazing because the rest of the family was on its way and would arrive hungry and expectant.

Stiles had seen Derek exactly three more times - first on the lunch, then when he had come for the clean clothes and Derek had been sitting at the table, writing a letter, and finally as he had been walking to the stables and caught a glimpse of Derek as he was making his way to the main gate. Every time, they said hi, smiled tentatively, then widely, when the irony of it kicked in, and parted ways again.

The sun was getting lower by the second when the family arrived at least. You could hear them coming from a mile off (and how could you not, when Laura and Cora shared a carriage).

When they rumbled through the gate, Stiles noticed that there were not two carriages like he supposed there would be, but three. He leaned a little closer to Derek to ask: "Is someone else coming, except your parents, Laura, and Cora?"

"Not that I know of," Derek answered. "But maybe uncle Peter showed up. We haven't seen him for a long time, he was bound to appear at any minute. He loves festivities."

"And the two of us are supposed to be that festivity?"

"A part of it," Derek grumbled like the prospect personally offended him. It kind of offended Stiles too, though.

The carriages stopped in front of them. Cora was the first to emerge, Laura right at her heels, both grinning widely. They approached to hug them hello.

"How have you been, little brother?" Laura asked. "Did anything worth mentioning?" Her tone suggested something of rather intimate nature and Stiles blushed, giving the sisters a reason to burst out laughing.

"Let them be, Laura," scolded Queen Talia playfully. "Good evening, my dear." She kissed Derek on both cheeks, and then proceeded to Stiles, while King Micheal greeted his son.

"Your Grace," Stiles said somewhat awkwardly and bowed his head.

"Oh, no, my dear. You're part of the family. My name is Talia." She took him by the shoulders and kissed his cheeks like she did Derek's. Stiles' head spun a little, if he was being honest. 

"It's getting chilly out here," King Michael said with a gesture, that was probably supposed to envelope the general surroundings, from the darkening sky above to the cold dew on the grass. "Let's go inside. Jennifer has prepared something outstanding, I guess, and will be wroth if we don't get to it while it is still warm."

They all started to make their way to the main door when the door of the third carriage opened and another person made an appearance. The man was lean, not really tall, but not short either, with piercing blue eyes and an insincere smile.

"You would leave without me? That's not very polite, now, is it," he said, his head tilting to a side. "Nephew," he carried on and stepping closer he clapped Derek on the shoulder. "And here he is." Turning to Stiles, he looked him up and down like goods on sale. "Just as pretty as they say. My name is Peter, and I'm uncle to your future husband. If everything works out, of course." His smile widened, revealing sharp teeth, and Stiles shuddered, suddenly feeling way more uncomfortable than he ever had.

"Well met, my lord." Stiles squeezed out.

"So we are." Peter's eyes were searching and it creeped Stiles out immensely. To his relief, Derek stepped beside him and took his hand protectively. 

"Uncle," Derek's tone had a bit of a growl to it. It just served to make Peter's smile that much scarier.

"Let's go," King Michael said once more. For a moment, no one moved, but then the Queen started walking and everyone followed.

"I forgot to tell you," Talia turned her head to Stiles, "but Scott of the Lake County requested to see you. I believe you met at the ball. It seems he has taken liking to you."

"Scott?" Stiles said, bewildered for a second. "Oh, yes, we've met. He's quite a chatty one."

"That he is," the queen smiled. "He will be visiting tomorrow, spending a few hours with us. The castle of his parents lies just a few miles north of here."

"It's good of him to come." And Stiles meant it. He hadn't really interacted with anyone outside the castle garrison and the royal family, if you don't count the little conversations on the ball. And the one with Lady Allison.

"You should pay close attention, Derek, or Scott might steal your boy away," Peter joked, and everyone apart from Derek laughed.

"I'm not holding him prisoner. If we are to function together, I have to trust him to not do anything irresponsible," Derek's tone was grim but honest, and Stiles seriously wondered how did they get from 'You're not going anywhere' to 'I trust you to go'. Well. Not in those exact words, but almost.

"May be he won't be able to help it," Peter remarked.

"Begging your pardon, but I don't like what you're suggesting, my lord," Stiles spoke up, and every head turned in his direction. Hush had fallen over the table.

Peter smiled again.

"And what am I suggesting?"

"That I am too weak."

"Darling," Peter followed, cloyingly sweetly, "that is not what I said at all. All that I meant was, you might not have a say."

"I fail to see the difference."

"But you will," Peter said, watching Stiles carefully.

Derek stood up abruptly, turning over a goblet. His face had taken a red shade and when Stiles looked closer, he saw that Derek's hands were shaking slightly.

"Pray excuse me," were Derek's last words before he stalked out of the hall. They all watched in disbelief as the door closed after him. Silence ruled in the room for several more moments. Stiles's mind was stuck in bewilderment.

"Prickly as a hedgehog," Peter uttered, reaching out for another piece of apple pie, completely ignoring the looks the others gave him.

"I think I will go after him," Stiles declared and stood up.

"Yes, I think that would be wise." Queen Talia looked surprised at her son's departure, just like the King.

"Good night to you," Stiles wished them and walked out.

Even from the main building Stiles could tell that Derek was in their cabin. There was a light flickering through the glass panes and a figure moving around. Stiles opened the door and was confronted with the sight of Derek pacing restlessly, obviously deep in thought.

"Are you okay?" Stiles asked, watching Derek's head whip around to see who was talking. 

"Stiles?" Even his voice was restless. Or distressed? "Not really. But I will be. I just need to sort out a few things." He walked to the door that Stiles left open and made to leave.

"Derek?"

Derek turned around at Stiles' call. "I'm sorry. Just give me a little time? I'll be back."

They started at each other for a moment. Then Stiles gave a nod. Derek smiled, relief obvious in his features. Within a minute, the sound of his footsteps faded to silence and Stiles closed the door. Changing out of his clothes, he laid down to bed and closed his eyes. The evening was certainly interesting.

And to be honest, he felt a little flattered. He might not know what the issue was, but that didn't mean he couldn't feel good about the fact that Derek deemed him important enough to leave the table for. Maybe, just maybe, there might be some sort of affection growing between them.

Or maybe Stiles saw things where none existed.

He didn't remember when Derek came back. Just that when he woke up next morning, Derek's arm was wrapped securely around his waist like the day before, and the sound of his breathing filled the room.


	10. 9: Magical Words, Magical Hands

To Stiles' great surprise, Scott had, indeed, arrived the next day. It's not like Stiles hadn't known he would, let's just say that in the greater scheme of things that had happened the night before, Scott's visit got lost somewhere between Peter's overall creepiness and Derek's sullen silence.

That's right. Derek hadn't spoken to Stiles all day, except for greeting or when absolutely necessary. Stiles found it somewhat hilarious, considering that just that morning, he had woken up to Derek's embrace and soft smile. 

"Let's go for a ride," Scott said, elbowing Stiles gently into the ribs. It seemed like that was their thing now, acting like little children, possibly brothers. Stiles couldn't complain; Heavens know he had missed someone like that in the slightly-too-noble environment of the royal family. 

"Yeah, let's," Stiles smiled and got up from the plushy armchair that was his throne for the past hour that they had spent in the library; not reading and educating themselves, but finding funny pictures drawn by the bored generations before them onto the pages of nearly ancient books. Usually, Stiles would be profoundly horrified, but as of now, he couldn't really care, because the long bursts of laughter that erupted out of the both of them were well worth the few ink-spotted parchement pages.

One book in particular got them howling. It was an old tome, chapters after chapters of magic-related facts and theores, everything from the simplest, almost usual things such as yearly gatherings of believers, dated nearly twenty centuries back, to something Stiles wasn't even able to process - spiritual magic connected through earth with other similarly based minds that created a passage of thought over hundreds of miles. The paper was covered with little ugly women on broomsticks, fifteen variations of twisted creatures that vaguely resembled very hairy people, animals with unnaturally long ears and some sketches of what was possibly meant to be a statue on a pedestal. They had laughed themselves nearly hoarse.

Saddling the horses (themselves, because apparently all of the serving girls and stable boys were sorely needed at some preparations in the hall) and leaving the courtyard, Stiles and Scott headed into the woods. The day was beautiful, the sun peeking through the leaves, giving everything slightly green tinge. They were passing along the lake when Scott spoke up.

"So how is it going?" he said, turning his head towards Stiles. A little confused Stiles.

"I'm good, thanks for asking?" Stiles replied, feeling like he had missed something obvious.

Scott chuckled and shook his head. "No, I meant with, well, with Derek. The last time we spoke you said something about hard times ahead."

"Did I?" Stiles couldn't recall that part, but then again, he never remembered unimportant things. And since his brain decided that every other thing was unimportant, he was usually stuck with awkward situations. Stiles sighed. "Perhaps I did. It's not so bad, to be honest. We got used to each other, in a sense. And the family is not so bad." His eyebrows creased. "Actually, everyone except for the uncle is very okay."

"Sir Peter?"

"Yeah." Stiles' gaze fixated on the ground. "I don't really like him. He has those weird eyes that see right through you and tells jokes that are halfway offensive." Stiles hesitated for a moment. "I think there's something. Like, not in the lovey way," he added quickly when he saw the look on Scotts face, "It feels more like... ownership tendencies towards me. But whatever. I'll just keep my path clear of him."

"That actually sounds reasonable. Coming from you," Scott grinned, prompting the horse to go a little faster. "But if you ever need help, just scream as loud as you can and I'll come running."

"I quite like the idea," Stiles smiled widely, imagining the situation, "I'm screaming like a little girl and then comes a crash, the doors burst open and you stumble through them, landing on your face, because that's so like you."

"It's not!" Scott faked an offended tone. "I'd never!"

Stiles gave him a meaningful look.

"Okay, okay, I probably would." Scott smiled, lowering his head to avoid getting smacked in the face by a leafy branch. "The point is, I'd come."

"I don't think it'll actually work that simply. I could scream for whatever reason." Stiles grinned suggestively and Scott blushed a little.

"Ugh. I did not need to know that."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yeah, yeah, right. So, what if we had a sentence, or a word, that would act instead of it?" Scott carried on. Stiles let out a noise. "Shh, I quite like this theory of ours. Come on. We need something big and ostentatious, like a war cry."

"Um," Stiles hummed thoughtfully, even though he was at complete loss of ideas. He looked around, his eyes taking in the blanket of fallen branches that covered the earth. "'Beat them with a stick?'"

"What?" Scott's laughter - unnecessarily loud, if you ask Stiles - startled several birds, that were now circling above the treetops, twittering in distress. "'Beat them with a stick?'"

"What?" Stiles shot back, a bit offended at the way Scott was wiping his eyes with his hand. "As good a cry as any!"

"'Beat them with a stick.' I swear to Heavens and back, this is so ridiculous we have to accept it. Well," Scott let out a slow breath in attempt to get the laughter under control, "okay, then. That's it. Beat them with a stick is from now on your safety call."

"Perfect," Stiles muttered, "truly perfect."

 

They had stayed up and about for most of the afternoon, only returning when they were so hungry they nearly went cross-eyed. The sun was setting by then and Stiles had barely had time to go to the cabin to change into some presentable clothes when Derek came knocking on the door, calling him for dinner.

"Just a second," Stiles huffed as he tried to lace up his breeches properly. To his displeasure, the laces got tangled and ended up with a knot right in the middle. "Hell," Stiles swore quietly, tugging uselessly on the ends, as if that would help to magically get them apart.

"Stiles, we're running late." Derek's voice wafted to him through the door.

"I know, I'm trying, okay?" It was probably the tinge of distress in Stiles' voice that made Derek actually step inside the cabin. Stiles looked up at Derek with apologetic face. "I have a difficult situation going on in here."

Derek sighed. "I can see that."

Stiles yanked at the thing a few more times, to no avail. Derek sighed again.

"Come here."

Stiles stopped all movements to look at Derek. "What?"

Rolling his eyes, Derek repeated the sentence. "Come here."

Stiles took a hesitant step towards him. When he got to arms reach, Derek caught his hand and pulled him in, his face completely blank. His fingers run down Stiles skin to his wrist, where he loosened Stiles's grip and took the laces for his inspection.

"How did you even manage to do this?" Derek whispered, his breath tickling Stiles' neck. Then his fingers started moving deftly, tugging this way and that, untangling the knot slowly.

"Born with the talent," Stiles mumbled, unsure. Truth be told, at this point Stiles wasn't sure if he was even breathing. His heartbeat was too loud for him to hear anything else and the tangible warmth that radiated from Derek, the closeness of their skin, the tingly feeling that was running up and down his spine made it very hard for Stiles to focus and not get lost in the mess of his mind. It felt undeniably good to be this close to Derek.

And yeah, yes, of course, they slept next to each other, but that doesn't mean Stiles wasn't just as baffled now as he had been the first time they touched. It wasn't something he could get easily used to.

Derek tugged a little harder, making Stiles step a little forward and his stomach flutter.

"Why are you doing this?" Stiles asked, his voice too loud in the confined space. Derek's hands stilled and he looked up.

"Doing what?"

"I don't know. Taking care of me. Standing up for me."

Derek stared at him for long time. Then he lowered his head back down and carried on with the untangling. His reluctance to answer was as apparent as the moles on Stiles' skin. After a minute, the knot came loose. Derek tightened the laces up and fastened them into a bow, one that would be easily untied.

"Here you go," Derek whispered, stepping away. "Now come on, we have to get to dinner."

Stiles wanted to ask the question one more time, because Heavens know he needed that answer, but if Derek didn't feel like telling him now, Stiles could wait. Eventually, everything will come to its place.


	11. 10: Welcoming

They walked towards the building. Even if it was Stiles' first day here, he would still find his way; all he needed to do was follow the sounds of people talking, the smell of roasted meat and the light. The hall was luminescent. And so beautiful it made Stiles wonder whether there was witchcraft in it. During Scott's and his time away, it had been cleaned and swept and polished shiny, decorated with flowers and small branches, and candles had been placed on nearly every accessible surface. Stiles' breath caught in his throat when he sat down on his chair and took another look around, discovering that more people than he had expected were in the hall.

Stiles leaned closer to Derek, speaking quietly into his ear: "What's the occasion? Have I missed something?" 

Derek kept his eyes on the company while answering Stiles' question. "My mother thought it was an amazing idea to throw a miniature version of the Welcoming Ball. She thinks you haven't bonded properly with the most important people on the court."

Stiles groaned in desperation. "Oh please no. No more weird court people. Not that they are all horrible," Stiles glanced quickly to Derek to see if his words hadn't offended him, "I just don't think I'm capable of stomaching more small talk and sweet talk."

The corners of Derek's mouth twitched, but Stiles wasn't able to tell whether it was a smile or a frown.

"Stiles!" An excited voice that Stiles immediately recognized came from behind them. In a second, Scott was sitting down next to Stiles. "I didn't know more people were coming!"

"Well, neither did I," Stiles attempted a smile and failed miserably.

Make no mistake, Stiles loved company. But even the most sociable person would not be able to withstand two balls like this in four days only. His head started hurting about an hour in, his legs thirty minutes after that and before he knew why, he had to have a sit-down in the quiet (well, mostly quiet) corner with a glass of water and a rather nasty temper. Nasty as if in stabbing-someone-through-an-eyeball kind of nasty. He had heard enough false compliments to last him a lifetime, held enough conversations to know that only ten percent of the people here were fit for their position and danced with enough ladies to have blisters on feet. Combine that with the emotional strain caused by Derek, suggestive looks from Peter's direction and Scott's never-ending chatting and you'll get exactly why Stiles had snapped at everyone who tried to defile his small bubble of calm with spoken words.

When at last the ball ended, Stiles felt like he could drop dead on the spot and not even care. Dragging himself over the infinite distance to his cabin, he cursed the world to the Hell and back and down there again. And he wasn't even ashamed.

"Oh, here he is. Our Chosen one."

Stiles clenched his fists and turned around to find Peter's blue eyes shining a foot or two from him. Which scared him a great lot, because did the silent movement run in the family?!

"Yes?" he gritted through his teeth. 

"Why so impolitely?" Peter smiled sharply, taking a step closer. Stiles stepped back. "One would think you're not happy to see me."

"I think we've seen each other often enough during the evening."

"Seen, yes. Talked, not so much."

Stiles sighed exasperatedly. "Is there something urgent you need to discuss with me?"

"Oh, not at all. I just thought a little chat might be fancy." Peter stepped closer again. "Would you mind if I walked with you to your cabin?"

 _It's not like I actually have a choice, is it?_ "Of course not," Stiles said, starting into the dark. Peter fell in beside him.

"Have you enjoyed yourself this even-"

"Oh please," Stiles interrupted Peter's question, knowing that it was rude and not caring even a little. "Like you actually care. Just ask what you want to ask and go."

And Peter smiled. Honest-to-Heavens smiled. It was terrifying. "There's no need to be so sensitive, we are only conversing. But," his eyes flashed, "you seem to be more perceptive to people than I thought you would be. The matter is, though, that now is not the right time to ask pressing questions. We're nearly there."

Stiles let out a frustrated sigh as they reached the door. He wasn't able to pinpoint what was it about the man that made him feel threatened and out of place, but the idea of trying to piece it together now made him six times more tired than he already was.

"It'll have to wait for another time," Peter grinned. "Good night to you."

 _Not likely_ , Stiles thought to himself. "Good night."

Closing the door behind himself, Stiles was prepared to see Derek getting ready for bed, but the room was empty, a single candle burning on the table. In spite of his better judgment and general tiredness and prickliness, he opened the door again and looked into the blackness.

The evening air had a sharp chill to it. The grounds seemed tranquil bathed in moonlight. There was a movement on the path to the lake and squinting, he recognised Derek's walk. Stiles didn't feel like waiting until Derek came back on his own. Tonight, after all the theatre, he had lived through, he wanted Derek to be close at hand, near enough to touch and take comfort in. It wasn't perfectly clear to Stiles where all these thoughts came from, he just knew they were true. Making a quick decision, he followed Derek, winding his way to the bridge where they had danced yesterday. Derek stood there, leaning on the wooden structure, watching the little waves run over the water surface.

"Derek?" Stiles called out softly. Turning around, Derek looked up to see Stiles approach.

"Stiles."

"Are you alright?" Stiles asked, stopping next to Derek.

"I guess." Derek sighed, taking Stiles' hand into his own. When he spoke up, his voice sounded like a confession to Stiles. Like an answer. "I don't know what happened. The two of us - Peter and I - never really got along, because we don't share many things. With Laura, he shares the passion for political conversations. With Cora, it's the hawking." Derek gazed over the lake, his face so open it hurt Stiles to look at him. "It seems that now we have a penchant in common."

"And what is that?" Stiles asked.

Derek averted his eyes from the scene before him to look at Stiles.

"You, it would seem."

Stiles just stared back at him, stricken silent.

There were two things about that statement that left Stiles speechless. First, that Peter might have an actual interest in him, something that's not just a product of Stiles' wild mind. Even the thought of it made him shudder and goosebumps appeared all over his skin. Not to speak about the terror-inducted screaming his mind provided. Second, that Derek had, in fact, taken a real interest in him. Which was... well, it certainly was.

"Stiles?" Derek's voice sounded cautious. "Should I not have said that?"

"No, it's... quite alright. Unexpected. A little distasteful."

Derek's features hardened and Stiles recognized his mistake immediately.

"Stop right there. I can see you getting the wrong idea. The prospect of Peter wanting me, " Stiles grimaced upon these words, "is, to be perfectly clear, sort of horrifying. That's what I meant. The part about you was... so very not that."

"Oh," was all that came out of Derek's mouth. Gripping Stiles' hand tighter, he pulled him close to nudge his nose against Stiles'. When he widened the gap between them an inch or two, Stiles could clearly see the surprised look on his face. 

"Can I kiss you?" Derek asked softly and Stiles' world slowed down, quietening considerably.

"Y- yeah," he stuttered out.

Wrapping his hand around Stiles' waist, Derek pulled him in and pressed their lips together. It felt a little weird at the start to Stiles - what with all the inexperience he had - and his mind couldn't wrap itself around the fact that Derek's tongue was pressing against his lips and deepening the kiss. It was slightly too much for Stiles to handle.

He pulled away, resting his forehead on Derek's shoulder.

"Are you good?" Derek asked quietly, holding him close.

"Peachy," Stiles whispered back and snuggled below Derek's chin, resting against him. His head was swimming a bit, but he supposed that was to be expected.

"Yes, but are you really good? With being here? Aren't you sad you had to leave your home? I have never thought about it before I met you, but to have the Chosen one come to the castle is pretty much stealing a child from its parents."

"Well," Stiles chuckled quietly, even though it felt inappropriate. "I guess it is just that, but I, like, don't really mind? I'm not a responsible person, but I actually feel responsibility to at least try. If you were a jerk, we'd never work out. But you are just a little of a jerk, so we stand a chance."

Derek pinched his hip.

"Ow! See, that's exactly what I meant."

Laughing quietly, Derek held him even closer. The stars twinkled above them, their reflections silver smears upon the pitch black water. Suddenly, one of the smears got longer than the others and Stiles looked up just in time to see a star fall.

"A shooting star," he whispered. "Make a wish."

Stiles felt Derek raise his head, but by that time, the star was long gone. "I missed it. But you should make a wish."

Stiles smiled a little. "Right now, there's nothing more to wish for."


	12. 11: Of Flowers

The next morning, as per usual, Stiles woke up first. Lying in the bed, he recalled everything that had happened in the past few days. The ball and Derek and the summer residence and Derek and Peter and another ball and Scott and Derek and... It was an endless loop and Stiles got lost in it within seconds. Then he put attention to the one repeated aspect - Derek. He seemed changed these days and was ever-changing. Comparing his attitude from the first hours to now, Stiles could see more openness, more talking. Then again, there were times that Derek acknowledged him even less than ever.

Quite frankly, it drove Stiles mad.

"Stop it," came Derek's sleep-slurred voice from behind Stiles and his arm tightened around Stiles's waist. 

That drove Stiles mad as well.

Not that it wasn't comfortable. Honestly, it felt amazing. It just made Stiles really confused about the terms they were on. Once kissing and hugging and holding hands like a proper couple, once cold and silent and stiff. 

"Stop what?" Stiles asked.

"Thinking. I can hear it loud and clear and it makes it difficult to sleep," Derek mumbled. 

Stiles twisted in his embrace to come face to face with him, grinning.

"Does it really? Well, we can't have that, can we? You could become cranky again if you didn't get your beauty sleep."

"I'm never cranky," said Derek indignantly, his brow creasing, and he blinked his eyes open. "I just do not behave in a manner appropriate to my age and title."

"Because that isn't another way of saying cranky."

Derek groaned.

"It's too early for me to argue with you about anything."

"Yes," Stiles trilled happily, pushing his head beneath Derek's chin. "Just to be sure you know, it's always too early to argue with me. Except when it's too late."

"I'll make note of that, you magical argument winner."

That world triggered something in Stiles' mind. Magical.

"Do you believe in magic?" Stiles asked carefully, remembering the book Scott and he laughed over in the library.

Stiles could feel Derek frown. "Why would you ask me that?"

"There was this old book. It spoke about all magic-related things. I just thought I'd ask."

"Then no. There was magic in the world once upon a time, but that was thousands of years ago. Nothing of magical nature occurred in the past centuries." Derek kept silent for a moment, clearly trying to grasp a memory. "My grandfather, I think, told me that the last of mages died in the Battle of Flowers nearly eight hundred years ago."

Stiles hummed.

"What about you?"

"I think," Stiles answered, voice low as if he was telling Derek a secret, "that I'm a mage in making and that's how I win my arguments."

"Oh really? And what is your area of expertise apart from outstanding debating skills?" Derek said teasingly, pulling away a little to look at Stiles. He was smiling.

"Well, my dear, I can change appearances," Stiles lifted up his hand to trace Derek's cheekbone, "I can make myself invisible," he ran along Derek's eyelid, making it flutter closed, "but my utmost talent is confusing minds and making people forget." His fingertips drew out the shape of Derek's lips before Stiles kissed him. He didn't even think about it beforehand like he usually did, contemplating; now, it just felt unnatural not to do it.

Derek gripped his waist a little tighter before pulling away.

"Well," he said, his breath coming a shade quicker than usual, "consider me fully susceptible to your magic."

Stiles mewled when Derek traced a line of biting kisses down his neck and simply dragged his lips against Stiles' skin back up, kissing him with passion. Pulling Stiles in with the hand on his waist, Derek aligned their bodies, shifting closer until they were flush against each other, their skin rubbing deliciously.

The friction was taking its toll on Stiles, he could feel it. Arousal thumped through his veins like a poison, making him feel hot and then cold and hot again, until his senses stopped working and all he could feel was Derek, Derek's teeth as they bit into Stiles' lips, Derek's hair tickling Stiles' cheek as he whispered into his ear, Derek's hand when he grasped Stiles' thigh and wrapped it around his waist, Derek's cock when it rubbed against Stiles', making him moan.

"Derek," Stiles groaned when he felt a hand sliding down his belly, wrapping itself around his dick. With teasingly slow motions that had Stiles moaning and swearing, Derek stroked him into full hardness, while Stiles gasped for breath and dug his nails into Derek's shoulder with nearly no intention to reciprocate.

It's not that he didn't want to, Heavens, only he wasn't sure how to approach the situation. The lack of experience made him blush all the more and for a moment he contemplated what the Hell he had gotten himself into.

Then Derek twisted his wrist just right and all reasonable and worried thoughts left Stiles' brain. All that was left was pleasure and brazen resolution. Stiles' fingertips traveled from the base of Derek's neck down to his belly button, dipping in slightly before reaching lower and dancing along the sensitive skin.

"Stiles," Derek moaned, hips twitching into Stiles' touch. Stiles wrapped his hand around Derek dick, wondering how it could feel so alike his own yet completely different.

Their hands bumped and Derek loosened his grip, leaving only his fingers on Stiles' cock while his palm and thumb covered his own. Stiles did the same, which left them with both of their dicks inside a ring of their clasped hand, rubbing against each other. It felt otherworldly to Stiles and he let his approval out in a loud moan. Tension was coiling tightly inside him and he bit his lower lip, making Derek growl low in his throat.

"Derek," Stiles whispered, voice so high it nearly qualified for a squeak. "Derek, I-"

"I know," Derek breathed harshly, moving their hands in faster rhythm. Stiles' mouth fell open, ready and completely unready for this experience to end. Derek bit Stiles' lower lip, pushing Stiles over the edge.

Stiles came silently, with no more than a quiet whine, his body pulled taut before loosening up. His eyes closed but he still felt and heard Derek chasing his own high. Feeling possessive, Stiles leaned in and bit on the tender skin of Derek's neck as he pushed Derek' hand away from his cock and took him into his own hand, stroking with a tight grasp.

All Stiles worked with was adrenaline, endorphins, and instincts. Everything else was covered in orgasm-induced haze.

Derek gasped as he came, digging his fingers into Stiles' hip.

Sticky and sweaty, they stayed in bed, Stiles hidden in Derek's embrace, processing what just happened and trying to make sense of it. After five minutes, he gave up and snuggled into Derek's chest. 

Not everything has to make sense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To everyone, wherever you are: I hope you had/are having/will have an amazing Christmas time. And a great thank you to all kudos-givers, comment-writers and just-readers. You make me smile six times a day and I appreciate every single one of you.


	13. 12: A Coincidence?

That afternoon, they went back to the Royal Hill. Stiles didn't know how to feel about that since his time in The Silver Sunshine felt like a holiday. Returning back meant he would have to indulge himself in yet another history lesson with Maester Deaton, another dance session with Lydia. But then again, he would also get to see Erica. 

The journey back was just as long and dreary as their way to the residence, despite the thoughts of the morning encounter that kept whirring in Stiles' brain and prevented him from staying still. Derek's eyes tracked his every movement which only served to make him more twitchy.

Half a day later, when the sun was already set, they reached the gates of the Royal Hill, getting nearly overwhelmed by the warm welcome-back that awaited them. If Stiles hadn't felt like dropping to the floor and sleeping, he would've appreciated it properly. As it was, he only grumbled a hello and made his way up to his chambers, not caring one bit about his chest of clothes. Clothes were overrated. Clothes could wait.

Oddly enough, reaching the blue room felt a little like being back home. The duvet was familiar, his correspondence with his father lay untouched on the table, the library was a mess. However much he denied it, he missed this place.

Within seconds, he was out like light.

In his dreams, he was walking down an unfamiliar road. It was lined with tall pine trees, birds were chirping in their branches and somewhere close there must've run a stream because Stiles could hear the soft sounds of bubbling water. He had no idea what the place was, or even if he ever visited it. It had an aura that spoke to something deep within Stiles, tugging and pulling his mind this way and that as if trying to communicate with him. His footsteps did not make sound while falling upon the dirt of the road and even stumbling - as one would expect from Stiles - he stayed perfectly quiet. It awoke curiosity in him and he kicked one of the stones that littered the ground. The unlucky piece of rock flew away and hit a tree trunk. Silently.

Stiles spoke up. He could feel his throat working, but nothing came out. So he spoke louder. Screamed. Yelled. But around him was only silence.

Having nothing better to do, Stiles continued along the road.

Eventually, he hit a crossroads and to his great surprise found wooden pointers nailed to a withered tree. The one to the right would lead him towards Balance, the left one towards Light. It seemed so out of place Stiles stopped to think about it. Balance, or Light?

Light could be a friend. It showed you the way, made it possible to read, encouraged plants and people both to grow. 

It could also burn you down to ashes if you weren't careful enough.

Whereas Balance, Balance was always good, as far as Stiles knew. A vitality for the world where a slight uprise of one thing could mean the extinction of others. There wasn't a night without a day, there wasn't summer without winter, there wasn't love without hate. The opposites weren't able to exist without one another and you could not choose one and not choose the other.

So he turned towards Balance. He barely walked ten feet when the ground shook, split and encompassed him with darkness.

Stiles woke up with a start, sitting on his bed, breathing quick and shallow. The room was unlit, only the first signs of dawn marring the sky in the east. Stiles fell back upon the duvets, feeling as if something constricted the flow of his blood, leaving him light-headed. The world spun in slow, lazy circles.

This, Stiles thought to himself, was rather interesting. Certainly new. Something you get for talking about magic, Stiles supposed, turning on his side to put his back to the window.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw a figure sitting next to his bed. Holding back the shriek that made it halfway up his throat already, he inched closer towards the person, and let out a relieved breath when Derek's pale skin and dark hair became recognisable.

"Hell," Stiles said quietly, feeling the ball of anxiety in his chest loosen. He stared at Derek for a moment, wondering how long he had been there. The whole night, probably. Stiles would have to give him a speech about how it's okay to actually lie down next to him, even when he's not awake. It would not be the first time. And surely not the last, either. Especially after what they had done.

Stiles closed his eyes and fell asleep once more.

 

The sun was already high up in the sky and Derek's spot in the armchair cold when Stiles' eyes fluttered open. His room was half lit, half hidden in shadow, the window ajar (Stiles supposed it was Derek's doing. He really did take care of Stiles' well-being as if they were already married). Listening closely, Stiles could distinguish the sound of clashing swords down in the yard and an occasional laugh or whoop, if one of the fight-engaged made an outstanding move.

Stiles should start with his training as well. After all, it was only expected of someone in his position; well, not yet in position _position_ , but the point is clearly visible. 

Stretching, he got up, dressed and walked out of his door in search of breakfast. Or lunch.

Or both.

"Stiles!" Erica's voice echoed through the hall. There were hasty steps and then Stiles was embraced in Erica's arms. He hugged her back, a bit surprised at the sudden explosion of friendliness. True, Erica and he sat well with each other, but Stiles was not aware when exactly did they get on hugging-instead-of-hello terms.

"Erica," Stiles gasped when she tightened her hold. "To what do I owe this pleasure?" 

She let him go, a strange glint in her eyes. "Can't I welcome a beloved person whom I did not see for such a long time?" Stiles gave her an unimpressed look. She rolled her eyes. "Okay, okay, sorry for this unexpected assault. I did miss you, though."

"That's not the whole of it," Stiles said. He could not tell how he knew. He just did.

Erica bit her lip.

"C'mon, Erica. Speak."

"The carriage behind you did not arrive last night." The words rushed out of her mouth as if she had tried to stop them and failed spectacularly. Stiles' eyebrow rose.

"What?"

"The carriage that rode behind you yesterday. The one with books, some of your clothing, they did not make it here. The patrols are going out there to look for them."

Stiles blinked slowly, comprehending her words bit by bit. He couldn't care less for the clothes - his wardrobe here in Royal Hill was overflowing - but the books. He was looking forward to reading them. Most of them talked about the mages; if asked, Stiles would say it was all Derek's doing. He had got him curious about the Battle of Flowers thing and if Stiles got curious, he was capable of finding every single bit of information available. So right before the had left the Silver Sunshine, Stiles walked down to the library one more time and quickly gone through all the dust-covered shelf and packed about six old tomes that spoke about the ancient times of the land and two that described the Battle of Flowers.

And now Erica was saying they might be all gone? 

"Have they left already?" Stiles asked, watching Erica's brow furrow.

"No, I don't think so. They should be in the stables. Why-"

But Stiles was halfway to the gate already.

"I'll see you!" He shouted over his shoulder, running down the steps and towards the stables. This was an opportunity to kill two birds with one stone - he could explore the surroundings of the castle a bit more and miss the history lecture with Maester Deaton with a good excuse (the Maester loved books, so telling him that he had been out there searching for them would be acceptable. Oh, and the missing people. Those too).

The sunlight hit him straight in the face as he ran out of the First Hall, just a moment before something - someone - else hit him in a more physical sort of sense. Stiles stumbled, losing his footing, and he would've fallen if a hand hadn't grabbed him by arm.

"Whoa, there," Derek said, letting Stiles go. "Is the castle on fire?"

"Haha," Stiles answered dryly, but a smile was already playing across his features. "I'm going down to the stables. I want to go to the woods, to help with the searching."

Derek's eyebrows pulled close together in a frown. "I do not think that's wise." 

"Why?" Stiles complained.

"I don't want you running around the forest without guards because...," Derek stopped talking for a second, "well, there are reasons."

"For example?" Stiles prompted. Derek sighed.

"There are certain... patterns, with accidents similar to this one."

"What patterns?"

"Every single accident of this nature happens when- well, when you ride before it."

Stiles' brow creased. "I don't think I understand."

"Do you remember when you first came in here?" Waiting for Stiles' confirmation, Derek followed. "The carriage behind you got ambushed. I don't know if you were told. And when we were going to Silver Sunshine, a lesser lord reported an inconvenience on the road as he was coming to the city, just a mile or so after us. And then the one when we were making our way back here... And as the victims didn't have anything in common except for going behind you, we came to the conclusion-"

"That they might be after me," Stiles finished the sentence, whispering. "But why would anyone...?"

"I don't know." Derek smoothed a hand down Stiles' back, coming to rest on his hip. "It might be just a coincidence."

"One is an accident, two is a coincidence, three is a pattern." Derek gave Stiles a confused look. "Something my father says."

"Oh." The silence dragged on for a few seconds, then Derek spoke up again. "You understand why I don't want you coming?"

"Yeah," Stiles said quietly, reaching out to touch Derek's face. He felt shaken up. It's not every day that you discover there might be someone longing for your skin. He needed a little comfort; and for what it was worth, Derek looked like he could use some as well. It was a part of their new establishment, Stiles decided. When they feel down, they come for a hug. 

That was just the thing, though. Everything seemed to be settling into tracks as if Stiles had lived in the castle for his whole life. The memories of his original home got blurred at times, looked so unreal in his mind, but then sometimes Stiles woke up from his daydreaming and turned his head in expectation to see his dad watching him fondly from his parchment-covered table. 

Stiles quite honestly had no idea what to make of it.

As he was walking back inside to finally find something to eat, he suddenly heard quiet, urgent voices coming down the stairs. He ducked quickly behind the curtains covering the hidden room. The sound of steps was getting closer.

"- will happen soon. We just have to wait for the final outline of the forces." It was Peter's voice. But he wasn't alone, no, there was someone with him.

"We cannot wait too long. The time for Derek's decision is getting incessantly nearer and the moment he lets the Great Table know, the old men will spread the word and start preparing for the wedding. We cannot operate with hundreds more people in the castle." The voice was familiar to Stiles. He was sure he had heard it before. But where?

"I'm well aware of that, thank you," Peter replied with a hint of sarcasm. "I've waited for years, watching our lovely Queen Talia on the throne that should be mine. If it was just me, we would've stricken a long time ago. But there are some who deemed the excess of danger important enough to wait."

"I will not let your rashness ruin our plan," another person said and Stiles' nose scrunched up. This one was completely unknown to him.

"Rash, me?" Peter wondered. They must've kept on walking because their voices grew more distant. "You must mistake me for someone."

"Truly? May I remind you of the time..." They turned a corner, Stiles supposed, as he couldn't hear them at all anymore. He took a step backwards and collapsed into the dusty armchair. His mind wouldn't stop spinning.

Plan? Forces? Stiles hid his face in his hands, letting out a shaky breath. He knew Peter was a slimy, cunning creature, but he thought that, despite all of it, he valued his family. That he had enough humanity in him to care about those closest to him. 

Apparently, Stiles was mistaken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know you've probably heard it sixty times already and your Facebook feed is full of it, but please: Let me wish you a very happy new year! xx


	14. 13: Dark Made Darker

Peter planned a coup. A rebellion. And from what he had said, it wasn't a prospect new to him; on the contrary, there had been years and years of careful preparation.

Stiles had to tell somebody. Tell Derek. Yes, he should do that. But Derek was out in the woods, looking for the people and chests lost in the ambush. They should return upon sunset if they didn't find what they needed before that.

So Stiles waited. And waited. Meanwhile, the dinner was served, but he couldn't stomach more than a bite. The priests sang their prayers in the chapel, he heard them, voices high and clear rippling the darkening air as a stone thrown into a lake.

The moon was high up in the sky when Stiles' door quietly opened and a tall figure stepped into his room. Sitting up, Stiles whispered, "Derek?"

"I didn't mean to wake you," came a tired reply and Derek sat on the edge of the bed, reaching out to Stiles and caressing the back of his hand.

"Did you find them?" Stiles asked.

"Yes. And no." Derek sighed, turning his head towards the window, looking lost. "We couldn't find a single trace of them for so long we almost gave up. But then-" Derek's voice broke. He took a deep breath before he continued. 

"They are all dead."

Stricken silence hung over them. Stiles wanted to say something, but Derek wasn't done with his tale just yet.

"It's not really that that bothers me the most. People die every day. But the way they- their bodies- I can't even describe it. I have never seen anything like it. There was so much blood, so many bits that-" Derek's words got stuck in his throat and because of his hand against Stiles', Stiles felt how badly he was shaking. "I wouldn't wish for anyone to come to such an end."

Stiles gripped Derek's fingers tightly and used his hold to pull Derek in. "It will be alright," he said, running his hand up and down Derek's back soothingly, trying to work out how he was supposed to tell him the bad news when all Derek had in mind was already bad enough.

Derek slid his arms around Stiles' middle, resting his chin on the top of Stiles' shoulder, holding on for dear life. And that's what decided the situation for Stiles. His information could wait until the morning. After all, coups don't happen overnight.

Letting out a long breath, Derek pulled away.

"I'll go to my rooms. I just wanted to check if you are saf- okay." His words caught Stiles unawares and Derek managed to get up and turn around before Stiles' hand caught him by the wrist.

"Why don't you stay?" Stiles asked hesitantly. Two days or so ago, while they had been in the Silver Sunshine, it wouldn't even be a question, them sharing a bed (the fact that they shared a cottage with only one bed in it probably had something to do with it, but you see the point). Just yesterday, Stiles trembled through an orgasm in Derek's arms. Now it looked as if Derek was trying to get away from Stiles; to be honest, they haven't even talked properly since their return.

"Do you want me to stay?" Derek said quietly. Stiles was struck silent for a moment.

"Why would you ask that? Of course I want you to stay," Stiles said, incredulous. When Derek didn't move, Stiles pushed the covers aside and got up to see Derek properly in the face. 

"What's wrong." It wasn't even a question. Something was out of order and that something very obviously weighted on Derek's mind.

Derek kept silent and his eyes wandered away from Stiles.

"No," Stiles said, perhaps a little forcefully, "we need to talk. Your parents didn't spend hours upon hours teaching you to talk just so you could avoid expressing yourself." When Derek's gaze didn't waver from whichever spot on the wall he had chosen, Stiles took hold of his chin and carefully steered Derek's face towards his. "Just please tell me," he said gently, smiling a little in hopes of making Derek feel a bit more comfortable.

Derek mumbled something incomprehensibly.

"One more time and little louder please," Stiles said, putting his hands on Derek's waist. At this point, Derek felt like the most fragile thing in the room.

"I feel like I can't keep you safe."

The memory of the overheard conversation flashed through Stiles' mind before he resolutely pushed it away. This wasn't the time.

"Derek," Stiles said, his features loosening as he pulled Derek against him. "You don't have to keep me safe. I can keep myself safe."

Derek let out a noncommittal sound and closed his eyes; Stiles could fell eyelashes tickle the tender skin of his neck.

"Onto the bed, come on," Stiles said after a moment, pulling away and ushering Derek to the edge of the bed. Derek sat down heavily, reaching down to untie his boots, but Stiles beat him to it. 

"Just let me." Stiles smiled up at Derek, his fingers working on the laces. "Consider it a debt repaid. You tucked me in after the Welcoming Ball, I tuck you in tonight."

Derek's face brightened a little at the memory and Stiles counted it as a win. He slid off the shoes and got up to tug Derek's shirt over his head. Derek was pliable like a doll, his motions slow and syrupy, but his eyes stayed opened, watching with utmost attention everything Stiles did.

Stiles hang the shirt over the back of his chair and started untying the laces on Derek's breeches, biting his lip and feeling himself blush. Despite the number of times Derek and he slept next to each other, Derek mostly unclothed, and the one time, fully unclothed, it hadn't got any easier seeing so much of his naked skin. 

His fingers slipped several times under Derek's watchful gaze and with every slip, Stiles' cheeks got a little redder. In spite of the darkness of the room, Stiles was sure that Derek new about his silent shame.

Having tugged the breeches down, Stiles stood up, clutching them in his hands nervously as he found Derek staring at him. He had a slightly amused glint in his eyes that made Stiles feel a bit unsettled as he turned around to place the breeches over the shirt. 

Derek pulled Stiles into a sort-of hug - not a proper one as their heights were very different at that moment - before he took hold Stiles' chin and kissed him.

Stiles blinked quickly several times, unresponsively standing there petrified by surprise. Only when Derek gripped his waist and manhandled him into his lap did Stiles wake up from his frozen haze and kissed back.

It was still unexpected, the overwhelming waves of emotion that each kiss brought. Stiles wasn't quite used to it just yet.

When they broke apart, Stiles was profoundly out of breath. Their foreheads rested against each other, their noses touching, and Stiles wondered if this was what love was supposed to feel like. A bit too much. Gasping for air and not caring. 

He wondered whether all of this meant something to Derek.

Because Stiles was sure it could - didn't just yet, but the seed sprouted and was growing stronger - mean something to him.


	15. 14: Indecisive

It had been three days since Stiles stood as an unseen witness to Peter's plan. Three days since he promised himself to tell Derek as soon as the memories of the searching party got out of his head.

Three days in which not a word on the desired topic had left Stiles' lips.

Blame him all you want, he was just physically unable to say it. Even the destiny was against him - not for a single moment were Derek and he alone. The problem probably truly lay in Stiles who made a point of always being with someone; when he was alone, overwhelming waves of paranoia crashed over him and every shadow looked like an enemy, like Peter, like the two unknown people. Stiles used to think that if he ever came into a pressuring situation such as this, his mental strength would survive without a scratch. Reading a book with its characters mentally crumbling made him scoff at their weakness.

Well, truth be told, Stiles' mental strength left along with his determination to tell Derek and things didn't exactly look like they were going to improve anytime soon.

Stiles stretched his legs out, stiff from sitting in the library for the past few hours. From behind him, Erica trilled hopefully. "Are we finally leaving?"

"No," Stiles responded, settling deeper into the plush armchair. His conscience advised him rather loudly to let Erica - his never-be-alone victim for the afternoon - go to her duties. Instead of doing that, he turned a page of an old tome he had picked up in the Silver Sunshine. Interestingly (or not at all interestingly, it matters on what sort of person you are), the books hadn't been stolen during the drenched-in-blood ambush. A sentry had brought them to Stiles just the morning after the search party had returned from the woods. Most of them had had mud stains and some pages looked a little ruffled, but otherwise they seemed unharmed.

Since having them back, Stiles dedicated an obnoxious amount of his time to eagerly drinking in all their content. 

Half of it seemed more like a children's' fairytale than an actual history book. Stiles vowed to search the library for material about the writer - someone called Ceera Yuki - to check whether their work was considered credible. One book spoke about the Battle of Flowers, the one Derek had told him about when Stiles asked whether he believed in magic. It seemed like Derek - or Derek's grandfather, if Stiles recalled the conversation correctly - had been nearly right. It did happen some eight hundred years ago and the last mage had died during the battle - but magic hadn't. Possibly.

During the fight, there had been a witch, the wife of the mage, another source of great power. She had lost her left hand at the wrist during the battle, meaning that she couldn't use all of her magic, as hands where the source of it. Rather than to face the shame of her crippled nature, she jumped off a cliff and, according to the story, disappeared. Since then, no records of her or her kin existed.

"Why not?" Erica whined. "I need to get down to the kitchen. The White Nest Holiday is tomorrow. I'm going to get yelled at for not helping with the preparations."

"The White Nest Holiday is tomorrow?" Stiles asked incredulously, turning around to face Erica's lifted eyebrow. 

The White Nest Holiday was celebrated every year and honoured family and the steadiness of home. Usually, Stiles' father wouldn't do any work on that day, as most people didn't, and Stiles wouldn't have schooling, as most kids didn't. Instead of that, they'd ride out into the fields, visit few houses in the village, eat meals together; in essence, just have a lazy day filled with fun and good memories. 

"Yes, Stiles, it's tomorrow. Haven't you seen the calendar?"

"Alright, alright, no need for sarcasm here." Stiles sighed, turning back to his book. "Fine, go, but if something eats me while you're away, you'll have only yourself to blame."

"Right," Erica snorted, "because you're so sweet nobody can resist you."

"Who's irresistible?" 

Both Erica and Stiles jumped when Derek appeared out of the blue. Well, he just walked through the door, but still, it was rather unexpected.

"Your Grace," Erica curtsied and blushed, and Stiles nearly laughed out aloud - he completely forgot Derek was a figure to respect. "I was just leaving."

Derek's gaze followed her out of the room before settling on Stiles' face and suddenly, Stiles didn't feel like laughing at all. The green in Derek's eyes seemed to be especially prominent in the light that streamed from the windows and Stiles couldn't help but feel as if Derek saw right through him.

Derek sat down on the chair opposite Stiles and his eyes landed on the book in Stiles' hands.

"May I?"

Wordlessly, Stiles handed the book over, mind overflowing with nerves, watching attentively as Derek opened it on a random page, read a little. He repeated the process several times before he leaned forward and placed it on the table under the window.

Something in Stiles snapped and he blurted out, "Peter's planning something."

Derek's eyebrows drew together and Stiles felt his intestines slowly freeze. Now that he heard the words spoken out loud, they sounded ridiculous.

"What do you mean, planning something?" Derek asked, head falling slightly to the right. In other situation, Stiles would probably find it endearing. Right now, it reminded him of an eagle sitting on a rock, eying his prey, cocking his head in deadly curiosity.

"When you went to the woods three days ago and told me to stay here... I went back into the First Hall, I was going to get something to eat, you know, it was morning, everyone needs breakf-"

"Stiles," Derek said but Stiles rambled on, a little hysterically. The tension of the past days bubbled in him but he was unsure how to put out the fire under the cauldron.

"-ast, to have energy for the day, the most important meal of the day, that's breakfast, yes-"

"Stiles." Derek's hand landed gently on Stiles' shoulder. Stiles hadn't even noticed Derek got up.

"I'm sorry," Stiles whispered. He couldn't believe what just happened. It was as if he lost his mind for a second.

"It's alright." Derek kneeled down in front of Stiles, tugging Stiles' hands into his. It did something to Stiles' mind, seeing Derek down on his knees, but he was too distraught to look into it properly. "Now. Tell me one more time."

Stiles took a deep breath. "You went away, I went to the kitchens, but along the way I heard someone speaking and it sounded a bit like an argument so I dipped behind the curtains to hear all of it, and it was Peter and two others, talking about plans and forces and that they waited long enough and all was about to happen soon." And it was out. One terribly long sentence. The pressure on Stiles' chest loosened and he closed his eyes as relief flooded him. He felt considerably better. 

It was the quiet that made him open his eyes again.

To his great surprise, Derek was smiling.

Stiles' brow pinched as he stared at the uplifted corners of Derek's mouth in disbelief.

"I- I'm not sure if I conveyed the news properly. Peter has a plan of attack. And from the sound of it, he's not going to wage war with another kingdom." Stiles put emphasis on the last part of the sentence but it didn't erase the smile off of Derek's face. "Am I missing something?"

"No. Well, yes, kind of?" Derek said. "I noticed your behavior was a little off and I thought it had something to do with the Decision time nearing and that it would be painful news-"

Honestly, Stiles hadn't even had time to think about the Decision yet.

"-but this is good. Actually, it's nothing. Don't worry about it. We've been listening to Peter talk like that for as long as we can remember. Laura, Cora and I. He always says stuff like that."

Stiles stared at him blankly for a minute before he shook it off.

"I don't know what your opinions on me are, but I can assure you that what he said was not meant as a joke."

Derek was still smiling and it took all that Stiles had not to punch his pretty face. For some reason, anger welled up in him - maybe because he worried needlessly, if Derek was right, or because he was not believed, if he was right. The truth probably lay somewhere in the middle.

"And I assure you: there's nothing to worry about. Just let it go."

Staring at Derek indecisively, Stiles recalled what he had heard. Could Derek be right? Did Stiles' brain look at the facts, evaluated them and missed a vital detail that would make the picture change into more theatrical colours? 

Derek could probably sense Stiles' doubt. Looking up, he squeezed Stiles' hand.

"I mean it. It's nothing."

Unpersuaded, but willing to end the conversation, Stiles nodded. "Okay."


	16. 15: The White Nest

Derek left the library not long after their conversation ended. Stiles could still feel the doubt splashing in his insides, but he forced himself to pay attention to his reading again. The book he held now was different from the last one - it didn't retell a historical event. Stiles wasn't sure what to call it; a guide, maybe?

The first chapters talked about the basics of witchcraft, important artifacts, incantations and spells, times of the year when the power was at its strongest. After that came the signs of power. Stiles was a little lost in those since it apparently could have been anything from skin tone, birthmarks, and scars to accents and vocabulary extent.

Rituals were interesting. According to the book, the fact that a person was born with magical talent didn't mean it was just, like, _there_ to use. It had to be awoken. Stiles was going through the part where red-lined knives - those which killed someone - were used to mark a person in two corresponding places, like mirrors; a mark on the left elbow had to have a sister mark on the right elbow. Along with the right words and a witness, that was the way to properly create an igniting spark of one's magic. What seemed weird to Stiles was that the person carrying out the waking ritual didn't have to possess a single ounce of magic - anyone could release the power.

Pondering silently, Stiles failed to notice the movement behind the shelves, which was why he jumped good two feet into the air when someone spoke up right behind him.

"An interesting read you've found yourself."

Stiles' head snapped around and his throat went dry when he came face to face with Sir Peter. Gulping, Stiles opened his mouth to say something, but Peter beat him to it.

"One could wonder why such a frowned-upon topic found its way into the hands of the Chosen one."

"Frowned-upon?" Stiles couldn't help himself. His instincts were chanting 'leave' but Peter looked like he knew something Stiles didn't and while it drove Stiles a bit mad, it also gave him courage.

Peter made an affirmative noise and stepped a bit closer to Stiles. Stiles shifted uncomfortably but didn't utter a word.

"If you had looked into the books that are a bit... younger, you would have found that not many people had pleasant encounters with the magical folk, in fact, you'd probably find one a century. Even now, when the mages and witches are long gone, common folk still don't like to talk about them. There, look," Peter's finger pointed to the end of the page Stiles had been reading, "'To all this book advises: Keep this away from the villages of non-magical people. They have less love for our fires than for long winters.'" Peter took a deep breath and Stiles could feel it on the skin of his neck. Shivers run down his spine. He felt trapped even though there was nothing holding him down.

"Yes, well, the people are not here right now and cannot complain about my reading about magic."

"True," Peter said quietly, his breath tickling Stiles' ear. It smelled sweet, too sweet, like something rotting, and Stiles nearly gagged. "I suppose that as a future addition to the royal family collection, you do need to know about all that has been a part of the land's history. And-" Peter straightened, his nose brushing unintentionally - or intentionally, Stiles wasn't entirely convinced on either - against the tender skin on Stiles' neck. "-I guess Maester Deaton doesn't talk about this. A sharp young man such as you needs to get vital information somewhere."

Peter touched the place between Stiles shoulder blades and walked towards the door while Stiles stared at his back, shocked into silence. Then Peter turned around one last time and said: "But be careful. There are some who would not take your interests lightly." He smiled before he actually left and Stiles gaped at the spot he last saw him. What this was meant to be about, Stiles had no idea. But one thing was a little clearer - it seemed like Peter had, indeed, taken interest in Stiles.

 

Stiles woke up to an amazing smell of baked cinnamon goods wafting from beneath the door. Sniffling curiously, he cracked one eye open and then remembered.

The White Nest Holiday.

Tumbling out of bed quickly in an attempt to get down to the breakfast hall as soon as possible, he tangled his ankles in the sheets and went sprawling onto the hard wooden floor. Groaning, Stiles stayed down and pulled the sheets up over his head, contemplating not getting up at all. 

This was a serious sign of mother Nature not to get out of bed.

Although that meant he wouldn't have any of the traditional cinnamon rolls.

Decisions, decisions.

In the midst of the internal argument, somebody knocked on the door. Erica, maybe. She was the one who usually forced him to get up. Or perhaps Derek, he had gotten into a habit of visiting Stiles first thing in the morning, which Stiles personally thought was ridiculous since his morning self was not exactly impressive.

"Come in," Stiles called out, not very clearly since his mouth was still smashed in the sheets. He couldn't be bothered to get himself right and proper. Neither Erica nor Derek would judge him.

The door cracked open and Queen Talia slid gracefully inside. Her eyes immediately fell on Stiles, whose body was basically frozen in spot.

Staring at one another, nobody said a thing. Then the Queen coughed politely and Stiles hadn't moved so fast in his life.

"Your Grace," Stiles bowed hastily, keeping the sheet around him as to not expose the Queen to an inappropriately large amount of his nearly naked self. "Pray excuse my... unfit state. I was not expecting such an honourable guest so early in the morning."

"But you were expecting someone?" The Queen inquired, light twinkling in her eyes and even though Stiles was in no way feeling comfortable, it did make him feel slightly better.

"Well, Erica tends to come in the mornings...," Stiles replied. The Queen's features hardened and Stiles hastily added: "To make sure I've woken up, Your Grace, there's nothing- nothing inappropriate that would-"

Queen Talia held up her hand, sufficiently stopping Stiles' explaining.

"To be honest with you, Stiles, it's not my place to judge any of your doings. That's between you and my son. And I did not come to reprimand you or pry."

Stiles gulped. "Why did you come, then?"

To Stiles' great relief, the Queen smiled again. 

"Firstly, I want to wish you a happy White Nest Holiday. Secondly, it has been a tradition in this castle for quite a long time that the queen - the mother - gives the Chosen one a present on their first White Nest Holiday in the castle, a token of our eternal welcome no matter if the marriage is carried out in the end or not. Every Chosen has the right to return to Royal Hill if they need help and have the privilege to be heard under any circumstances."

She stepped closer to Stiles and handed him a little white nest, a half-sphere of intricately woven silver wire with three pearls at the bottom of it. From one side to the other, it was hardly bigger than an inch.

"Mother, father, and child," the queen said and Stiles looked up to her face, gulping. "Or the crown prince, the Chosen, and the kingdom. Some time back a Chosen girl from the south said it could also be the sun, the moon, and the truth. Different people see different things."

"Thank you," Stiles choked out, overwhelmed with emotion, with memories of his deceased mother, the idea of Derek's and his possible life together. It suddenly felt like way too much.

Queen Talia kissed him on both cheeks. "You are most welcome." 

She turned to Stiles one more time before leaving the room. "And do come down to the hall when you're ready. Jennifer has outdone herself with the food today." Giving him one last smile, the Queen shut the door, leaving Stiles to himself.


	17. 16: Around The Edges

Staring down at the glittering wonder in his hand, Stiles sat back on the floor, inspecting the details. It was a work of art, really. Metres upon metres of fine silver wire twisted and coiled into tricky patterns, forming the nest and delicatedly hugging the pearls, so when Stiles turned it upside down, they did not fall out. Angling it in various ways showed Stiles different layers of the work, each one perfect in its own way.

Derek found him half an hour later in the very same position, sitting cross-legged on the floor, wrapped in his sheets and not much else, lost in thought. He went to sit down next to Stiles, who gradualy leaned closer and closer until his head was wedged beneath Derek's chin and his side plastered to Derek's. They stayed like that until Stiles broke the moment.

"Do you think it will work?"

"Do I think what will work?"

"This," Stiles nudged his head into Derek's chest, "the two of us."

"Will we get married, you mean?" Stiles nodded and Derek sighed, wrapping his arm more tightly around Stiles's waist, pulling him closer. "I don't know. Does anybody know?"

"I guess not," Stiles whispered, holding the nest in both hands, cradling it to his heart. 

"Do you want to?" 

Stiles pondered, mulled the question over. Did he?

"I suppose? I don't really know." Stiles turned his head up, finding Derek already looking down on him. "Do you?"

Derek smiled somewhat shyly. It was a weird expression to see on his face. "I'm not sure. I like you, though. Sometimes," Derek teased, bumping his nose into Stiles.

"Ooh, here comes the confession," Stiles' lips stretched into a smile, "I was expecting something more pompous, though, at least a dozen white doves and rose petals falling from the ceiling."

"Sorry for that," Derek did not look apologetic at all, but Stiles figured he would have to deal. "Next time I'll remember."

"Next time better be soon and good, then," Stiles declared and laid down, making himself comfortable with his head in Derek's lap. Within seconds, Derek's fingers crept into Stiles' hair, scratching gently on his scalp.

"Aren't you feeling generous today," Stiles preened as he pushed against Derek's hand, relishing in the attention.

"Aren't you feeling cuddly and cute," Derek responded, smile obvious in his voice.

"Cute, me? Never."

"Oh please, just look at you," Derek said and Stiles opened his eyes. "Cute doe eyes, cute moles, cute hair. What was it that Erica said the other day? You're so sweet no one can resist you."

"Take too much and your teeth will rot," Stiles mumbled, staring up at Derek's face. The line of his jaw was covered in short dark stubble. Stiles shifted, raising his arm to trace the edge of it from Derek's temple down acros his cheek and finaly to his lips. Thumbing at the bottom lip, Stiles craned his neck upwards, brushing his mouth against Derek's.

The response was instanteous. Derek leaned down further, supporting himself with an arm propped against the floor next to Stiles' head as he caught Stiles' lip between his own, tugging gently. It made Stiles' heartbeat trip.

Derek's other hand touched Stiles' neck gingerly, smoothly sliding down his collarbones and beneath the covers Stiles was still wrapped in, resting on his sternum. Stiles was pretty sure that Derek could feel every hitch in Stiles' breathing through his palm. There was quite a lot of them as their kiss grew more heated.

Truth be told, Stiles wasn't entirely sure what had gotten into him. He wanted to be as close to Derek as humanly possible. Maybe it was the memories of home that made him feel lonely. Maybe it was Queen Talia with her suggestion of his relationship with Erica that Stiles wanted to deny. Whatever it was, it tempted him and in one short moment, he pushed Derek off and himself up, crawling into Derek's lap and pressing their lips back together. Sliding his fingers into Derek's hair, Stiles moaned softly as Derek bit on his lower lip and snaked one arm around Stiles' waist, supporting himself with the other.

With fire instead of blood in his veins, Stiles pressed himself closer to Derek, his dick stiffening as it dragged against the cloth of his underpants. Derek radiated heat and Stiles nearly purred in happiness. His mind was a little hazy, fuzzy around the edges, and he loved it.

"Stiles," Derek murmured into the kiss, digging his fingers into Stiles side when he tightened his grip on Derek's hair.

"Mmm," was all that Stiles mustered, his effort placed elsewhere.

"We should get down to the hall. For the breakfast."

"Can't we stay for a bit more?" Stiles run his tongue across Derek's lips and pushed his hips forward, making Derek groan. Stiles' gaze flickered up to Derek's face, finding it flushed and his eyes glittering.

"I guess so." With those words, Derek flipped them over, leaving Stiles gasping while Derek grinned down on him wolfishly before plaicing his lips on Stiles' neck, kissing softly down Stiles' skin. Stiles' eyes fluttered shut. 

The lower Derek got, the more Stiles' skin tingled. His dick was hard, straining against Derek's weight.

Grasping tightly on Stiles waist, Derek mouthed his way down until he reached the covers. Looking up at Stiles, he tugged them slowly down, giving Stiles the time to decide whether this was what he wanted. Stiles stared back at him, completely enthralled and completely willing. Dipping his tongue into Stiles' bellybutton, Derek kissed ever lower, tracing the silvery line of scar tissue on Stiles' abdomen. Reaching the cloth of Stiles' underpants, Derek looked up once more, waiting.

There wasn't even a second before Stiles nodded. 

Dragging his thumbs along Stiles' hipbones and under the clothing, Derek pulled them down while painting faint red scratches with the rest of his fingers. The sensation had Stiles' hips pushing up into Derek' touch.

And just like that, Stiles was naked and, funnily enough, he didn't feel embarrassed or ashamed. His breathing was harsh, his cheeks flushed, and his hard dick on display and all he cared about was the way Derek smiled before he took him into his mouth.

Moaning, Stiles shut his eyes firmly, reaching down to rest his fingers on Derek's scalp. It felt... well, very much like heaven, to be honest. Derek's mouth was wet and hot and everything Stiles wasn't aware could feel this good. Sounds escaped him in unbroken strings as Derek sucked him down and pushed his tongue into the underside of Stiles' dick.

It didn't take much for Stiles to come. Derek was pressing the tip of his tongue onto the slit of Stiles' dick and it was far too much for Stiles to handle. He came with a quiet soft sound, biting his lip, his eyes opened wide as he stared at Derek.

Tugging Derek up, Stiles joined their lips again, although Derek looked like he was going to protest. Stiles didn't care. Tasting himself on Derek' tongue was almost good enough to get him hard again. Almost. Stiles' body was in the state of absolute bonelessness and even though Stiles felt Derek reach down into his own pants and start to jerk off, he was too tired to do anything about it.

When Derek came, it was with his face buried in the crook of Stiles' neck and with Stiles' fingers gripping at his nape.

 

They did eventually leave Stiles' room. Derek had to essentially dress Stiles because the prospect of putting on clothes was too much for Stiles' muddled brain to handle. Instead, he opted to keep himself upright and not resist Derek's efforts.

Walking hand in hand down the staircase, Stiles couldn't help but notice that the place was unusually quiet.

"Where's everyone?" he asked, squeezing Derek's hand.

"Most of them are home with their families. There's about twenty people in the castle right now, not counting my family and the two of us," Derek answered. 

Something about that sentence sounded vaguely threatening, but Stiles was still feeling soft and fuzzy around the edges; nothing could raise his suspicion.

They were walking through the First Hall when Stiles heard it. A faint scream echoed from the direction of the dining hall, followed by another one, louder and so piercing it chilled Stiles' to the bone. They halted immediately, Stiles gripping Derek's hand painfully while Derek stared transfixed towards the end of the hall. Then Derek shook his hand free and broke into run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the start of the end and I hope you're enjoying it! Please let me know if you find any mistakes or inaccuracies and I'll make sure to deal with them.
> 
> And if any of you, by chance, think about applying for Falmouth University (UK), feel very much invited [here](http://goingfalmouth.tumblr.com/).


	18. 17: On That Day

It took Stiles just one frozen second before he followed Derek's example. His heart was beating wildly in his chest, his breath a panicked staccato. Stiles flew through the door at full speed, crashing into Derek who stood like an ice figure staring at the dining table that was covered in blood. Behind it stood-

Peter.

With a short sharp knife in hand, Peter smiled and gestured at the free chairs.

"Why don't you take a seat, nephew?" Peter's voice was saccharine sweet and had an undertone of deadly danger.

"I'm afraid I will have to decline," Derek replied, his fists clenched at his sides. Stiles desperately looked for the source of the blood and when he found it, his stomach turned.

At Peter's feet, Queen Talia lay, a lifeless form. Her head was crowned with a deep bash and blood still flowed freely out of it. Stiles guessed somebody had slammed her head down when she had sat at the table, smashing it against the hard wood. The idea made Stiles sick.

On the right side of the table, King Michael sat, pale-faced, but his eyes were hard when he looked at Peter. Behind him stood a man that kept a dagger at the King's throat, preventing him from jumping up and strangling Peter with his bare hands just like Stiles could tell he wanted to.

"What are you doing?" asked Derek, his voice trembling slightly.

"Isn't that an interesting question?" Peter drawled, taking a step backwards, nearly tripping over the Queen's dress. Scowling like it was something dirty and distasteful that laid at his feet, he carried on. "Right now, I'm breathing. And talking."

Derek growled. Peter smiled.

"But taking into consideration the circumstances, I suppose you are waiting for an entirely different answer." Switching the knife from one hand to the other, Peter took a deep, satisfied breath. "Right now, Laura's and Cora's rooms are being searched for weapons and means of escape are being secured. They are unharmed and will continue to be so unless they disobey. That, sadly, is not so true for our darling Talia here, who tried to take charge of the matter. As you can see, things did not go in her favour."

Peter took another step back, spreading his arms wide. "I'm taking what I always wanted, nephew." Peter knocked on the wall behind him. Sudden movement could be heard. "The power."

The door at the opposite side from Stiles and Derek burst open and soldiers started to flow in, armed and ready to fight anyone who stood against them. The crest on their armour was familiar to Stiles, although he couldn't recall when he had seen it. Derek must've recognized it because he stiffened, his mouth hanging open.

"You did not," Derek growled low in his throat. A blonde woman strode through the door, taking the place at Peter's right. 

"I'm afraid I did," said Peter. Stiles was lost and Peter could see that. "Pardon my manners, Stiles - although considering what you are, I would have expected you to know. This is Kate of house Argent."

"I think I'll have to correct you, you obviously meant to use 'who'," Stiles noted as his mind whirled a mile a second. Argent, as if the Argents from the Kingdom of Silver in the west. West, the place they were on bad terms with. The place Allison, the girl from the ball, came from.

"It is my pleasure to meet you, Stiles," the woman - Kate - said and Stiles recognized the voice - she was the one with Peter that day he had overheard the plans. "And I would like to assure you that Peter fully intended to use 'what'."

Stiles stared at her in confusion mixed with a bit of self-loathing. Heavens, he knew he was right. He knew this was going to happen. But he had let Derek lull him into oblivion - Peter had always been saying, had always been planning, had always been looking for new people-

Who had been the third person on that morning?

The answer came as if Stiles called out for it. A short blue-eyed man made his way through the door and took a place at Peter's left.

"Theo," Derek said, voice stone-hard. Stiles remembered him. Theo had been the first person to meet him when Stiles arrived at the Royal Hill. On that day, Theo seemed cold and unapproachable. Stiles guessed now he knew why. His arrival meant things got tangled up.

"Let's stop this, shall we?" said Peter. "As nice as this chat has been, I'm afraid I have more important tasks to do. Get them," he ordered the men surrounding him. They moved like a wave but Derek was quicker, pushing Stiles out of the door and slamming it in their faces.

"You have to run," Derek said frantically, holding the handle so as to not let the door swing open. The tendons on his arm stood out as he desperately tried.

"I can't leave you here," Stiles protested, looking at Derek as if he had lost his mind.

"Stiles, you are clever enough to figure this one out. Run, you hear me?" Derek's voice raised into a shout. "GO!"

So Stiles turned around and ran.

 

Stiles' mind worked as fast as humanly possible, desperate thoughts scurrying around like mice. What was he going to do? The main gates would surely be sealed and guarded, Peter was clever enough for that. There was no point in locking himself in his room, they'd break down the door within seconds. Where should he-

"There he is!" A voice yelled, followed by the unmistakable sound of running men. Stiles broke into run without even turning around to see how many there were - too much for him alone to handle was the simple answer. 

Stiles took a right turn and rushed up the stairs, in the direction of his room, but he knew he couldn't go there. He couldn't. So he took the next right again, instead of the usual left. 

Someone was calling him, but Stiles didn't pay any attention. The sound of thumping feet was getting increasingly closer and Stiles was losing energy by seconds.

"Stop right there!"

 _NO!_ Stiles wanted to yell back, but his breath was coming short and he needed to save it. He nearly flew down a flight of stairs, turning desperately around. He was back in the main hall, somehow. His eyes fell on the curtain that had the hidden room behind it. He ran for it and slipped inside, trying to calm his breathing.

"Where is he? Where is he?!" The same voice shouted. Stiles' knees trembled. "Look! Search!"

If they searched properly - and Stiles didn't doubt for a second they would - they'd inevitably find this space. 

The hidden spot in the corner. Stiles tiptoed to it as silently as he could and slipped in. He could hear everything that was going on in the hall. They were banging on the floor and on the walls, opening doors and apparently another group was checking the rest of the castle. Someone walked out of the side hallway.

"Here you are. Is everyone taken care of?" 

"The maids are upstairs, in one of the bedrooms. Might've some fun later. The cooks are in the kitchens."

"Guards?"

"Dead."

"Good."

"Have you found him?" It was Peter's voice that asked that question. 

"No, Sir."

"Then _look_. All of this is completely irrelevant without the boy. I need him here more than I need you."

"We are doing our best-"

"You better be." 

Peter obviously left because the next thing Stiles heard was a quiet: "Well, to Hell with you too."

Peter needed Stiles? What talent could Stiles possibly possess to deserve such an honour? There was nothing special about him - maybe he was a bit more clever than some, could sometimes deduce things others couldn't - but that was it. Stiles held his breath when a man passed him. 

Stiles wasn't even properly trained in arms. He could fend for himself for a short period of time, but as a warrior, he was somewhat hopeless. He nearly gasped out loud, when he heard someone call: "There's a space behind the curtain!"

All conversation stopped and hasty steps approached. Stiles heard two or three people coming in. He did not dare to even blink.

"It's empty."

"Can't be."

"Well, do you see anything?"

"No. But we didn't see this place the first time neither. Take a proper look around."

One person left, but two stayed. Stiles pressed himself against the further wall, unreasonably trying to melt into the stone. 

The household staff was either under lock or dead. Queen Talia was unconscious, maybe dead. King Micheal would very probably be locked in his room by now, just like Laura and Cora. And Derek - who knows what happened to him. What will happen. He was the crown prince and thereby was the third name on the list of people to get rid of when one wanted to claim the throne like Peter did - Derek stood right behind the Queen and the King. Stiles' eyes started burning, but one of the two men was getting closer and closer and Stiles was slowly falling into a state of shocked, desperate stillness.

"Did you find anything?"

"No. Don't think there's anything in here. Did you?"

"No. It's just an old unused ro- hang on. What's that?"

"What's what?"

"Look at that."

"At what? It's just a corner."

"'Tis not. Come here."

Steps. A thoughtful hum.

"Alright, I see what you mean."

"Let's have a look."

More steps. Approaching.

Stiles' heart was beating his way out of his chest. He scrabbled at the stone behind, to find leverage, otherwise he would have sunk to his knees. And although he didn't consider himself among the bravest, he had enough pride in him to want to be standing when he was found.

His fingers found a crevice in the wall. 

"Another space. This place is downright creepy."

Stiles braced himself and the stone gave a little. 

_Thump!_

The steps stilled and so did Stiles, his eyes wide like saucepans. 

"What was that?"

Stiles didn't hear the answer. The ground beneath his feet shifted, disappeared, and he fell into darkness.


	19. 18: Focus

Something was repeatedly touching Stiles' cheek and it was wet and weird and uncomfortable, and Stiles mumbled discontentedly, only half awake. If it was Derek playing some not-so-funny joke, Stiles would kill him. 

But Derek wasn't really a person to play a joke, so no killing him today.

Another touch. Stiles swiped his hand over his face, and it came away covered with something slimy, which startled him right out of his dozing. His eyes snapped open and he saw-

Nothing. Exactly the same as when his eyes had been closed, only darkness and more darkness.

Stiles blinked several times, maybe there was something wrong with his sight because he had just woken up. It didn't help. Was he blind now?

Panic welled up inside him, threatening to overflow. What was happening, what was happening, what was-

It all came crashing down at once and had Stiles stood on his feet, he would've definitely fallen.

Unconscious Queen Talia. Peter's deadly smile. Derek yelling at him to run. The hiding and the click and the fall.

One thing was good then. Stiles wasn't blind after all. There was just no light down here.

A hysterical giggle escaped Stiles' mouth, followed by another and soon, Stiles had to cover up his mouth - the echo was strong and every sound resonated right back at him. He might've been acting a bit crazed at the moment, but that didn't mean he was completely out of it - he still remembered that he'd better stay quiet. Somebody might be down there.

Now, that was a shocking discovery. Stiles shut up as if a string snapped and took another - equally useless - look around. 

Okay, so sight is out. Let's put to use something else then.

Stiles sat up straight and listened. At first, all he could hear was his own breathing. For a moment, he was convinced he could even hear his heartbeat.

Come on, Stiles. Focus.

He took a deep breath and concentrated. There must be more than just his own noises. He closed his eyes out of habit and really listened.

All of the sudden, the sound cleared up. There was a water trickling nearby, ever so slowly. Above him, something heavy was being shifted. There was a slight hum in the air - like a breeze. 

Stiles' mind reeled. If there was a breeze, there must have been another opening. And if there was an opening, Stiles might get out.

He stood up carefully, first reaching up with his hand to check whether the ceiling was high enough. He couldn't find it. He touched his hand onto one wall. It was like very, very old stone, covered in Heavens-know-what, but it was steady, which meant Stiles could use it to navigate himself.

In utter darkness, he took the first tentative step. The ground didn't give, no screams sounded, no lights suddenly appeared. Stiles let out a relieved breath - why was that, he couldn't tell. Maybe he expected something to lurk in the blackness, waiting for him. A monster, perhaps. The lost witch from the Battle of Flowers. Something.

But the tunnel - or whatever it was - stayed exactly the same, and Stiles took another step. And another. His hand scraped at the wall and he stumbled several times, but other than that, nothing changed. So Stiles walked and walked, never seeing even the tip of his nose, and then - he walked some more.

 

In the stillness, silence and dark Stiles was encompassed by, time flowed differently. Stiles couldn't figure out whether it was morning or midnight, whether his tiredness was induced by the physical and emotional strain or by a nearing sundown. The only certainty he had was the stone wall under his hand and the solid ground beneath his feet.

As Stiles moved, he had enough time to replay and mull over the happenings of that morning. Now he knew he should have fought harder on the topic of Peter's rebellion. That he should've looked more into the Argent family when he had first heard about it. Stiles liked to consider himself intelligent. Not top-class clever and never mistaken, but slightly above average intelligent. How could he have let all that go? He should have- he could have- what if something bad happened to the family? Or worse, to Derek? What if-

Stiles felt suddenly lightheaded, felt his heart beat faster and he was sure that if he could actually see, his vision would be swimming. Which only reminded him that he could not, indeed, see right now, and that didn't improve the matters one bit. His quick breaths echoed from the walls and slammed back into him. 

What if the Queen died from her injury? What if Peter decided that keeping Laura and Cora was too much of a nuisance? Stiles should have done more, it was him who overheard the conversation, only him who could have done something-

Stumbling, Stiles reached out with both hands desperately to maybe catch himself on one of the walls, but he fell nearly straight forward and his fingers just scratched the stone with a nasty sound. The stone crumbled and got stuck behind Stiles' fingernails. It hurt like Hell but the pressure in Stiles' chest felt more present and urgent. Falling down on all fours, Stiles pulled his knees closer, but it only served to make the pressure more pronounced.

Stiles gasped for breath, it seemed like there wasn't enough of it in the tunnel. The tunnel. With its darkness and dampness and it looked infinite and Stiles was never going to get out, was he? He will just scramble around this place for days until the lack of water drives him insane and then, as he's lying on the ground, rats will come to feast on his body.

Stiles' fingers found a loose stone on the ground and he gripped it in his fist with all his might, picturing it was centering him. Slowly, he pushed away at the horrendous thoughts. Some of them were more persistent than others and kept coming back, but Stiles concentrated. He made himself focus. The rock was his haven. He gripped it tighter and took a deep breath. Another thought pushed at his mind and he pushed against it. Gradually, his heartbeat slowed and the pressure ceased. Stiles curled on his side. He felt cold water seeping into the back of his shirt that was by now most likely covered in mud and dirt and stains from whatever grew on the walls. The uneven floor was digging into his thigh and the tiny pieces of stone that got stuck behind his nails were a pure torture. 

Stiles pushed it all aside. In his mind, he kicked and screamed and threw until there was nothing but he himself. That's also when his body gave up, the tiredness became sleepiness and within seconds, Stiles was out like light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sending a whole lot of love to all those who write comments, leave kudos, or just come by every week to read the new chapter. You keep me smiling in the general chaos that is the start of the second semester! xx


	20. 19: Echoes In The Dark

Stiles dreamt again. Or maybe recalled a distant memory? Either way, he was standing in a hollow in a meadow, a circular basin maybe ten metres in diametr lined with a rather steep slope and covered with carpets of green spring grass. In the centre stood a tree, quite an old one, Stiles judged from the breadth of its trunk. A little boy, maybe four or five, was running around it - Stiles. The dreamt Stiles was clearly looking for something although the dreaming Stiles couldn't for the life of him remember what it was. Or where that place was. It seemed familiar, tugged at strings inside his head, but he was unable to make a connection.

Little Stiles stopped moving and let himself collapse in the grass instead, a look of utter hopelessness etched into his face. Whatever he was looking for, he was unable to find it.

"Stiles?"

Both dreamt and dreaming Stiles' heads snapped in the direction of the voice. A young dark-haired woman was standing on the top of the slope, looking down at little Stiles with fond, but nonetheless exasperated brown eyes. Stiles recognized her immediately. "What are you doing here? I told you not to go so far from the house."

"But, Mum," little Stiles got up and while he had a thin aura of shame around him, he also looked determined. "I lost Bit somewhere here."

With a start, dreaming Stiles remembered Bit. It was a tiny rabbit toy made of cloth and straw. He used to carry it everywhere back in the day.

Stiles' mother sighed and slid gracefully down the slope to land right next to dreaming Stiles. "Let's have a look, then," she said, walking towards little Stiles.

"I already did," Stiles said. "I looked everywhere."

"And have you used all eyes?" Dreaming Stiles stopped short at that, confused, while dreamt Stiles shook his head.

"I can't do it when you're not with me," he said sadly, clasping his hands in front of him.

"Of course you can, darling. Come on. Let's try." She took little Stiles' hand and led him towards the tree. Dreaming Stiles followed them, watched them sink on the ground.

"You know how to start," Stiles' mother said gently and little Stiles nodded, placing his hand on a root of a tree and closing his eyes. Then his brow furrowed, he lifted his hand and placed it elsewhere. Repeating this several times, he then seemed to settle for the part where the root disappeared into the dirt and grass. His mother smiled and placed her hand over Stiles.

"What comes next?" she asked.

"Picture," little Stiles answered without a pause.

"Can you see Bit?"

Little Stiles nodded. Dreaming Stiles watched in amazement. The strings in his head vibrated, pulled tight.

"Second?"

"Prick." As little Stiles said that, his nails dug into the twisted wood.

"And last?" Stiles' mother pressed her nails into the root as well. Little Stiles closed his eyes, a look of fierce concentration in his features, one that was very familiar to dreaming Stiles. The strings loosened a bit before they were stretched to limit and snapped.

"Push," both dreamt and dreaming Stiles said at the same time and a flash of white light illuminated all three faces even as Stiles' vision grew dark and then winked out of existing.

 

When Stiles woke up, his head hurt like never before. He groaned and didn't even jump when it echoed through the space. Not anymore.

He had a faint feeling that he had forgot something vital, that something slipped from him as he woke up, but basic needs overthrew those feelings quickly and sufficiently. Stiles' tongue was sticking to his palate and his lips were beginning to crack. Water.

Pushing himself up, Stiles' head swam and he nearly fell back down. The wall prevented his fall and with a rather masochist tinge, Stiles remebered the times it had been Derek who caught him. It felt like a lifetime ago.

Stiles began walking and carried on without a thought for- he didn't even know how long for. It could have been an hour, could have been three. He only became more aware when he noticed a difference in the echo. Instead of two main directions - behind him and in front of him - it seemed as if there were three. Stiles' heart lurched with hope.

Spreading his arms as wide as they would go, Stiles felt along both walls. As he walked on, his arms went to its full extent and then beyond, which is when Stiles slammed head first into stone. 

"Ow." Probing his forehead carefully to check for injuries, Stiles cursed inwardly everything from the Sun to ants. Then he touched the stone in front of him. It seemed he reached a crossroads. After some exploring, he found out that, apart from where he had come from, there were two possible directions to take.

Since he had no idea of his general whereabouts and could not flip a coin, Stiles just shrugged and went to the opening on the right. 

In a few minutes, he started to regret his decision. At first the ground had been even. Then it had started going a little bit up and by now, Stiles was panting and wheezing as he climbed the steep hill. Or whatever you call it when you're underground. Also, the space was getting all the more confined and narrow as he proceeded, almost to the point where he thought he wasn't going to fit at all. At any other time, Stiles would be swearing all over the place at the physical exercise, but the fact that something was different gave him the hope that this thing was actually _leading_ somewhere. As if on call, he slammed into something. For the second time in less than a- whatever.

Reaching forward, Stiles found it wasn't more stone. It was wooden. Feeling around, he looked for a handle or anything that would suggest he was standing by a door. His forearm brushed something metallic. Elated, Stiles took it and pushed it down. With a screech loud enough to wake the dead, the door opened to a dim light that blinded Stiles just as full sunlight would after a usual day spent in the library. He stepped in and froze on spot.

He knew the room. Paintings in faded gold frames, dusty cups and plates, old toys and long-unopened books.

Stiles stood in the attic of the Silver Sunshine. He just walked out of one of the door he had back then thought were damaged and simply kept in here.

That wasn't all, though. 

With an arrow pointed at his chest, Allison of house Argent stood in the doorway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :3


	21. 20: The Story

"What are you doing here?" Allison asked, her arrow firmly held in the perfect shooting position.

"Funnily enough, I wanted to ask you just the same, since it is my future husband mansion you're currently in. And I don't recall sending you an invitation." Something told Stiles he should keep the sarcasm at bay since it somehow wasn't him who had the upper hand here, but he couldn't help himself. He hadn't slept properly, he was dirty and tired and hungry - not to mention thirsty - and the world just wasn't a good place to be in for him right now. "How did you know I'll be here?"

That was the only question that mattered. If Allison had known about the passage, she would've undoubtedly told Kate who would have just as undoubtedly told Peter. And they would have attacked through that instead.

"I could hear you," Allison replied, the tip of her arrow lowering a bit. "There was scrambling coming out of the wall. At first, I thought I was imagining it, then that it was rats, but then I heard swearing."

Under any other circumstances, Stiles would have blushed. Today was not the day, though, because he just came to know that he wasn't climbing an underground hill in the final parts of his dark journey - he was ascending to the attic through the Silver Sunshine's walls.

"But again - what are you doing here?" Stiles repeated his question.

"Kate and Peter made this place their central point. And as the heir of our house, I was asked to come along. Sadly, I'm not important enough - or way too important, depends on the point of view - to have been permitted to go to the Royal Hill. Lucky for you."

"Lucky for me?" Stiles asked disbelievingly. "You'll pardon me if I say that I fail to see the lucky-for-me part in this."

Allison, to Stiles' amazement, lowered the bow and put the arrow briskly back into her quiver - a movement fluid and practiced enough for Stiles to realize that if he had tried to run out of the room, he would be hit within less than two seconds. 

"Don't look at me like that. I'm here to help you."

Stiles stared.

"Look," Allison said, taking a careful step towards Stiles. "There's a lot to this that you probably don't understand and it would be beneficial to both of us - I can promise you that - if you sat down and listened to what I have to say."

Stiles watched her, perplexed and intrigued. What choice did he have? Everyone he knew was either held captive in the Royal Hill (the royal family) or way out of his reach (his father). And he needed information, needed someone to answer the basic question of _Why?_ Deciding to trust her, Stiles sat down on the spot.

"Thanks," Allison said, relief obvious in her voice. 

"Is Derek still alive?" The words just shot out of Stiles. He knew he was admitting to a weakness by making Derek his first concern, but he couldn't help it. Just as he was thinking purely about getting out when he had been down there, now Derek was the only one on his mind. 

"As far as I know, he is."

Stiles' shoulders sank a bit as he relaxed and breath suddenly came easier to him. It was a wonderful feeling. Sure, Allison could be mistaken, but somehow Stiles doubted that.

"Now. What do you know about this?" Allison asked, sitting down in front of Stiles.

"Not much," Stiles started. "You and we are not exactly friends, but Peter still created some sort of a deal with Kate to get on the throne. It has been going on for years, probably. Now they've got control over the castle and the family. Theo is somehow in that."

"Not much, really," Allison agreed. "Do you know why is there enmity between us and the Hills of Beacon?"

"No."

"Back in the day - a lot back, to be precise - the Argents were just another family, nothing special, certainly nothing royal. At the certain point, someone decided they wanted more than a life of weeding of vegetables and herding of sheep. That person left home and started collecting knowledge about magic folk. Within a decade, he became skilled and smart enough to hunt down anything magical. Important people paid outrageous amounts of money to get rid of threats and potential threats."

"Meaning pretty much anyone, as innocent as they might be," Stiles mumbled.

"Well, yes," Allison carried on, "but it was those payments that simultaneously brought the name of Argent high and made us one of the richest people in what was then the Western Lands. This dark fortune along with the fact that common people feared, admired and respected us had risen our status high enough that after three generations we established our own kingdom. It may sound easy, but it wasn't, and my ancestors did it anyway, all the while receiving more letters asking for help with this or that magical creature."

"I thought we were talking about Kate and Peter, not having a lecture on the not-so-noble-after-all house of Argent." Stiles was getting antsy. The sky out there darkened with each word Allison said. 

"Would you just shut up?" Allison's eyes narrowed. "In spite of what you think, you need to now this."

Stiles stared at her and Allison stared back reluctantly. In the end, Stiles sighed: "Fine."

"As I was saying," Allison looked at him pointedly again, "the Argents were rich and powerful and against magic. The Hales, however, were all for magic. They opened their door to anyone who asked for shelter and protection in exchange for an occasional use of their magic for healing. One day, an offer came: fifty thousand for all magic folk on the Hale court dead. You don't turn down an offer like that."

Stiles gaped a little. Fifty thousand would comfortably pay for about four Royal Hill castles and there would be still some gold left.

"So plans were made and soon the attack was launched. They got into the castle and collected everyone who possessed magic. The Hales fought back, of course, but they didn't stand a chance. That's where it gets important. 

"When I asked Kate why she was doing all this, she told me she wanted to revenge an old slight, that during that night, the Hales killed our King even though he surrendered. It sounded suspicious, although I've never met the Hales, I've heard several times they were, well, honourable people. So I dug into it. And sure there was a hitch - as last of the magic folk on the court, the young princess, the Hale heir, was brought. Our King was hesitant, according to the books, but the offer was clear: payment when all magic folk are dead. So he killed her as well. Which is what has given the Hales the rage and courage necessary for overwhelming us despite the numbers. In the end, our King did really surrender - but because of the murder of the princess, the Hales did not spare him."

Allison stopped for a moment to catch her breath and Stiles watched her, dumbfounded.

"You are telling me," Stiles started, his voice rising slightly, "that all of this-" he waved his arms in an all-compassing gesture "-all of this mess is caused by something that happened a good millennium ago?"

"Kind of," Allison said. "I'm not finished yet.

"Since then, the Hales and the Argents didn't mix. A full-out war was waged for nearly thirty years, but then, when nearly all resources were gone, they agreed to an armistice."

"The Treaty of Silkele?" Stiles said, vaguely remembering Maester Deaton talking about it in one of their early lessons.

"Yes," Allison said, surprised. "It didn't bring a real peace, though. There were still fights and the two kingdoms did not trade, however irresponsible that sounds."

"Maybe twenty years ago, during one of the worst winters, both kingdoms struggled. The Kingdom of Silver consists mainly of coastal land and we don't have many forests. We needed wood - the Hills of Beacon had plenty. They needed salt and flint - we had more than enough of that. So they established a trade, the Winter Agreement, and to make sure all was secure, they agreed upon a marriage - Kate, back then the second in line to the throne after my father, and Laura, just the same but with Derek."

Stiles gaped openly, not believing his hearing.

"They met in a border town, both with their respective goods and daughters. The exchange was made and the carriages left for the centres of the kingdoms while the families stayed in the city to somewhat celebrate the upcoming wedding.

"My father says that at the night before the wedding itself, everyone was sitting at the table, feasting and somewhat talking, when Kate saw Derek. Kate was satisfied with Laura up to that point. They were both a bit sarcastic, fiery in nature. But something sparked and Kate decided she wouldn't settle for the second best and wanted Derek instead. Derek couldn't do that, though. The crown princes in the Hills of Beacon have to take a Chosen one or resign from the rule.

"When her request was refused, she was deadly calm, father says. That night, though, everyone woke up in the middle of the night to Laura's screams. They found her lying on her back with Kate holding a knife to her throat. Nobody got hurt. Kate swore to get Derek some day. If it weren't for Queen Talia's cold head, the Hales would've ripped everyone apart. As it was, both sides left and never met again."

"Until you showed up at my Welcoming Ball, I guess," Stiles said hazily. All that he just heard was... overwhelming to the highest degree. The sun had set and the attic was draped in darkness.

"Kind of," Allison said. "Kate didn't know I was there, neither did my mother. Just father. I needed to check whether you were the one who could help me stop this."

"I still don't get that, though," Stiles said and looked Allison in the eye. "Why would you help me?"

"You mentioned Theo, right?" Watching Stiles nod, Allison carried on: "If this all goes like planned, I will end up married to Theo. The Raekens have a seat in the south of our kingdom and have three sons, Theo being the youngest. With Peter on the throne, the army will be sent there to help Theo kill his parents and older brothers, which will ultimately make him the ruler. And then, marrying me, he will be the future king of the whole kingdom."

"I'm pretty sure you could take him down with one of these." Stiles pointed at the arrows on Allison's back.

"Kate has been holding my parents prisoner for the past week. They didn't support her claim on Derek. I kill Theo, she kills them."

Stiles sucked in a breath.

"And Peter?"

"Peter just wants the throne, as far as I know."

"So we've got one mad lovelorn aunt," Stiles counted on his fingers, "one mad power-thirsty uncle, and a little prince who thinks he can get to rule by fight. Marvelous."

"You forgot to mention the Silver Army, currently led by Kate. Ten thousand men."

"And our army. Probably for Peter to play with now. Nothing to worry about."

Allison smiled.

"So," Stiles carried on, "what now?"

Getting up, Allison offered her hand to help Stiles. "First, I find you food. You can stay here, nobody ever goes up here." Stiles took the offered hand. "Then we plan."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're confused with the general whereabouts cities and places, try [this](https://68.media.tumblr.com/41c298caea6625586370e4e0c3e6456c/tumblr_olzgs1SE1I1rw4u7eo1_540.jpg) (I did my best, before you start laughing).
> 
> Speaking of which, there's also the [tumblr](http://www.larryhaylik.tumblr.com) of mine and the [Haremoon Project](http://www.fifthhogwarts.wordpress.com) (fifth Hogwarts house kinda thing, currently in search of people willing to write, draw, and more).


	22. 21: A Broken Memory

"Derek is priorities."

"Sure he is. But there's no point of getting to him if we have no way of getting him out."

"We will get him out. Just the same way we're going to get in."

"Stiles, it will be a miracle if we get to Derek without raising alarm in Royal Hill. There's no way we'll be able to get back to the tunnel without support."

"There is! Allison, we just need to- we just-"

"What point is there in running straight into the wolf's den without a backup? I can assure you that we won't get back out by ourselves. We need someone. Otherwise, we'll all get stuck in the castle and what good would that do anyone?"

Stiles stared at Allison petulantly, like he was about to stomp his foot to get what he wants. Allison arched an eyebrow at him and Stiles sighed. He wasn't sure at what point exactly he had started to think about Allison as a trustworthy, somewhat sisterly ally, but he had.

"Fine. You're right."

"I know," Allison smiled at him, crossing out a line at the paper that laid on the floor. It was Stiles who had insisted on writing everything down. He knew himself too well to rely on the simple memory, especially now that he had a constant worrying feeling in the back of his head. 

"What do we do, then, if we're leaving Derek for later?"

Allison lifted the list of their ideas and revealed the map that laid underneath. Her brow pinched as she thoughtfully studied it. "We could try to contact Issac. He's a great friend of mine and could help us-"

"Where's his seat?"

Allison pointed to the heart of the Kingdom of Silver and Stiles gave her an incredulous look.

"It would take at least a week for our message to reach him and then a month - if he decided we were worth it - to get here."

"Do you have something bett-"

A loud noise echoed up the stairs and into the room. Both Stiles and Allison froze and listened carefully for steps, but nothing else happened.

"Do you have something better in mind?" Allison said, her voice considerably quieter than before. Stiles looked at the map, found the right spot and pointed at it.

"Here."

Leaning in, Allison read the small letter out loud: "McCall Lake County? Do you know someone in there?"

Stiles smiled. "Yeah. I do."

 

Allison went away a little after, leaving Stiles to his maps and counting. He was trying to find a way that would allow for both speed and safety. If all his calculations were right, they should reach Emerald Creek - the capital of the Lake County - after three days in the saddle.

Stiles heard a commotion in the Silver Sunshine's courtyard and got up to look out of the window. It felt good to walk - he didn't move properly since he had stepped out of the underground yesterday evening. Allison had got him some food from the kitchens and brought a little pillow and blanket for Stiles to sleep on. 

From what Stiles had gathered, the Silver Sunshine was now something like a focal point for all those who sided with Peter and Kate and peeking carefully out of the window, Stiles saw a whole lot of people - both on foot and in the saddle - yelling over each other. Then a tall, bearded man boomed a command that Stiles didn't understand and half of the crowd ran into the building while the other one dispersed over the grounds. They were clearly looking for something.

Or someone, Stiles' heart jumped, his eyes widening. At the same moment, the sound of running feet came from the staircase. Stiles felt panic rising inside him. He silently, but quickly hid behind an old wardrobe and didn't dare to breathe when the door opened with a creak.

"Stiles?" a voice whispered urgently and Stiles let his held breath out in relief as he stood back up to face Allison.

"What's going-"

"They know you're here. We gotta go." Allison frantically looked around and grabbed an old, somewhat holey sack and then pushed Stiles' blanket and a few rusty knives inside of it.

"But how-"

"It doesn't matter!" Allison whisper-yelled and then stilled as the sound of thumping feet came from behind her. "Into the tunnel, go, go!"

Stiles didn't waste another second with currently meaningless questions and quickly uncovered the entrance, ushering Allison in. Stiles himself followed, shutting the door as silently as possible even as he heard the people reach the attic.

"Search it!" A voice called out, immediately followed by a new wave of sounds. Allison and Stiles stood still as statues of ice as the inspection continued.

"There's nothing in here," someone said.

"Clearly," the frosty voice answered. "Get back down!"

Stiles and Allison continued in their silence for a few more minutes, barely breathing. When Stiles was sure no one was left in the attic, he whispered: "Now we go down?"

"Yeah. We can't go back in."

"Then let me go first." Stiles wasn't exactly sure where this gallant part of him originated from, but he could tell, despite the absolute darkness, that Allison was grateful for it. He carefully sidestepped around her. The narrowness of the tunnel - or wall, technically speaking - pushed them chest to chest and Stiles could feel Allison shaking slightly.

"It'll be okay," he whispered to her as he pushed in front and reached a hand to touch a wall out of instinct. "Trust me. I've done this before."

"I guess you're right," Allison replied. "So what do I do?"

"Keep a hand on the wall. Test the ground before you put all your weight on it. And keep very, very quiet. If you heard me coming up," Stiles said as he took the first careful step forward, beginning their steep descent into even blacker darkness, "they could very well hear us coming down."

 

Stiles mind reeled, so many things bouncing off his skull without check. He still worried about Derek but now he also worried about himself and Allison. Slight waves of claustrophobia came over him now and then, leaving him gasping for breath, but he was still better off than Allison - after all, Stiles have endured already. Also, he couldn't stop thinking how those people knew he was in the Silver Sunshine. As far as Stiles could tell, the passage was drawn on no map and nobody saw him on his way or once he got out. 

Then there was the enormous gaping hole this situation blew into his plan of going to Scott. He supposed three days ahorse, but they did not only lack the horses - also provisions, proper travel clothing, weapons. And the map. Stiles remembered some of it, certain points they had to pass, but it was nowhere near a solid plan.

They were walking for some time when the echo shifted and Stiles recalled the fork, the two options of the way. He waited until his fully spread arms couldn't reach the walls and then reached forward just in time to stop himself from running into the rock again. He, however, forgot about Allison following after him. She bumped into his back, sending him face first into the stone.

Stiles groaned.

"Oh God, sorry," Allison whispered as she carefully reached out and run her hand across Stiles' forehead and then the rest of his face, searching for an injury. Her fingertips were surprisingly warm compared to the creeping coldness of the tunnel.

"That's okay," Stiles said as he rubbed the top oh his hairline. "That's not a first, either. I could tell you how many times I run into the wall down here, but I lost count myself."

Allison snorted. "Why did you stop, anyway?"

"Because we've got a decision to make. There are two ways. The one to the left goes to the Royal Hill. The other... Heavens only know."

Stiles was pretty sure that the silence meant Allison was considering the options and weighing the risks, so he kept quiet as well. He had already come to terms with waiting to save Derek until they had the means to get him out safely. Also, his curiosity was pushing him towards the right, to where he had no idea what he would find.

"I think- I think we should go right," Allison said, "we need to get out somewhere to get to the Lake County. If that way doesn't work, we can always come back."

"Just what I was thinking," Stiles said and took a right turn. His senses heightened compared to their journey up to this point. Stiles guessed the fact he hadn't been this way yet was to blame. Nothing seemed different, though. Same slightly wet ground, same somewhat slimy walls. Occasional sounds of dripping water that reminded Stiles of how thirsty he was again and that they had no water for their journey. On they went, for hours it seemed, until Stiles felt the faintest shift of air again and a spark of hope flickered inside him. He sped up a bit, keeping his hand on the wall as the path twisted and turned again and again and the shift turned to flow and then a breeze. He heard Allison stumble behind him, but he couldn't wait.

The space grew narrower again and lighter, too. Stiles could see his hand where it touched the rock, after that the walls changed from deep grey to something a bit greener and then the world opened before Stiles, a valley rounded with high mountains, a lake in a center of old oak trees, all covered in the gold and red of the setting sun.

Stiles' knees gave out beneath him as Allison got out from the crevice in the Cliffs. Stiles watched the scenery, trembling slightly from the wind, remembering the first time he had been here - hidden in a blanket one early morning a little over a week ago, with Derek close enough to touch, close enough to hold his hand.

Stiles shut his eyes, overwhelmed. "I need a nap," was the last thing he said to Allison before he did just that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you guys had a moment, have a look [here](http://www.fifthhogwarts.worpress.com).


	23. 22: Streams

This time Stiles' sleep was undisturbed by any dreams and when he woke up, his vision of the world was clean-cut, colourful, and beautiful. He could hear birds singing, drops of water hitting the windowsill, and someone was lying behind his back, a warm, comforting presence. Derek.

Stiles turned around and was met with a sharp, unfamiliar _Ow!_ that had him jumping up.

Allison's eyes were accusatory while she rubbed her head. Stiles had tugged on her hair as he turned.

"Sorry," Stiles apologised, feeling something dark pressing on him and stealing light out of the world that seemed so luminescent a moment ago. "I thought you were- I thought I was-"

Allison's eyes softened. "Do you miss him?"

"Yeah."

Stiles himself was startled at how much truth was in that little word. Just yesterday he had been convinced that Allison's and his safety were the most important things, but the priorities had changed. He had got so used to being with, or being close to, Derek that just a few days without him felt - empty. He couldn't rely on walking down a hallway to talk to him, couldn't rely on bumping into him in the kitchen as they both stopped there for an extra snack, couldn't rely on seeing him training across the courtyard.

Add Erica into the miss-you mess, the fact that the safety of either of them was unproven and that Stiles hadn't drunk a drop of water or eaten a breadcrumb in the past twenty hours, and you will get the exact state of Stiles' body and mind.

Not very pleasant.

Allison sat up and stretched.

"I walked around a bit after you fell asleep," she said, walking to the edge of the rock. Stiles followed her. "We can get down to the lake, there's a pathway just a bit further." She pointed to the left. "Or there's a road, it looks used and probably leads into a city."

"No," Stiles said simply.

"What?" 

"It doesn't lead into any city. Well, eventually it does, but first it passes by the Silver Sunshine."

Allison's eyebrows furrowed, but she didn't ask him how he knew. A part of Stiles felt grateful for that.

"Okay, then. Down we go." She took the bag, pushed in the blanket and began towards the path. Stiles went after her. He didn't know what else to do anyway.

The way down took about two hours, Stiles suspected. It was a steep climb, the sand on the rock proved treacherous and their feet felt unsteady more often than not. As the mountain tops rose ever higher with their descent, Stiles couldn't help but feel as if he was being lowered into a prison cell with no door in the walls, only the one in the ceiling.

When they finally reached the bottom, the sun was directly above their heads and served as the best and only source of light they had as they walked wordlessly into the shadow of tall oak trees. 

Inexplicably, Stiles felt at home. The greenish tint everything had, the rustling of the leaves, the soft sounds and snapping twigs made by animals scurrying away from them, it all felt immensely natural. Out of instinct Stiles touched and let himself be touched here and there, his fingers sliding over the rough bark, his head not turning and being caressed by the leaves. Allison watched him with increasing confusion as Stiles walked confidently, steering them through the wood as if it was second nature.

There wasn't any distinct line between the trees and the lake. Stiles and Allison reached the lake in a place that looked somewhat like a small pebbled beach, but on both sides of it, trees just grew into the water, their roots sometimes being half drowned, half hidden beneath the grass.

"We should stay here for a bit," Stiles said, first words in a long time.

"Yeah," Allison answered, sounding bewildered. Then she walked to the waterline and crouched down to drink some of the water. Stiles immediately followed. He couldn't comprehend how he could have possibly forgotten about how thirsty he was.

"Better." Allison wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and turned back to Stiles. "How long do you want to stay? We do have some pressing matters at hand after all."

Stiles remembered Derek and the kingdom and their supposed journey to Scott's and it all suddenly seemed like nonsense. This place was perfect and Stiles wanted to stay here. 

It was the stark contrast from his morning thoughts that woke him up. 

"Just a few hours? We can rest a bit, drink, look for food?"

"I'll have a look into these woods. There might be something edible." Allison touched her bow lightly. It was still slung over her back. Stiles couldn't remember whether she even took it off in the past two days.

"What should I do?" Stiles asked. He didn't want to just sit down and stay there, he wanted to see more of this place. Something seemed suspicious, like everything here was consciously trying to placate his mind into oblivion.

Allison took a long look over the lake. "You could try to walk along the shore, see if there's any stream coming out of it. It could lead us out."

"Sounds good," Stiles smiled. Actually, it sounded perfect.

"Great." Allison took a fallen branch and drew a circle into the pebbles, repeating it several times so in the end there was a distinct mark on the ground. Stiles looked at her curiously. 

"There might be ten beaches exactly like this one for all we know," she explained. "We better recognise our meeting place."

"That sounds... sensible," Stiles said, wondering how come he didn't realise that.

"Good to go?" Allison asked and Stiles nodded. 

"See you in a few hours then."

 

"Ouch."

Stiles snatched his hand up from where nettle touched his skin, burning. 

It had been maybe an hour since he left Allison to her food hunting and started walking along the lake's shore. He had felt something tugging at his mind then and he could still feel it now. Like a half-forgotten dream coming during a feverish night, it was a hazy, unseizable presence. 

Taking another thorough look at his surroundings, he acknowledged with a sigh that nothing was changing. Oak trees hovered above him, water lapped in almost imperceptible movements at the shore, and fallen twigs snapped beneath Stiles' feet as he moved along again. He was sure he had walked halfway around the lake by now because he could see something very much alike their little beach on the other side. Although, as Allison had pointed out earlier, there could be ten of those.

Lowering his head to take a look at his hand, Stiles found the skin reddened, with a few little bumps, like gnat's stings. It itched and burned, but Stiles knew better than to scratch. Instead of that, he found a small torrent that led from the lake and sank his hand into the wonderfully cold water.

He was profoundly enjoying the relief when with an intake of breath he realized what he was doing.

Dipping his hand into a torrent that led from the lake.

Which meant it had to go somewhere. Maybe even show them a way out.

Stiles rolled his eyes at himself for not recognising the opportunity sooner and stood up, water drops falling from the tips of his fingers, hitting the ground with soft sounds. Stiles stared in the direction the stream indicated and weighted his options. He could finish his shoreline walk, wait for Allison and they would go together. _Or_ he could follow the water by himself to find out whether it was worth anything.

Promptly deciding for the second option, he took the first step and almost hissed when the presence in his mind somehow jumped, as if it was excited.

Like it achieved something when Stiles took the step.

Really, he should be more careful. And go wait for Allison.

Don't be superstitious, Stiles' adventurous side said.

Wait for Allison, his common sense snapped back.

Go. Wait. Go. Wait. Go. Wa-

The branch under Stiles' foot gave in as he unconsciously put more weight on it, and he stumbled forward.

Taking it for a sign, he carried on walking along the stream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading! And if you have a moment, there's is Harry Potter stuff to look at [here](https://www.fifthhogwarts.wordpress.com) and general stuff to look at [here](https://www.larryhaylik.tumblr.com) xx


	24. 23: Past And Present

The woods started to change as Stiles neared the edge where trees gave way to stone, growing darker and gloomier in the shadow of the mountains. The water bubbled happily on his left and Stiles tried to see where the woods ended. Fruitlessly, as everything around him seemed to be the same mixture of green and brown.

It thereby came as a great surprise when out of the blue he had to stop because he reached the end. The mountain side was incredibly steep, more of a rock wall, really, and covered with ivy, fern, and a great many other plants Stiles couldn't name. Which explained nicely why Stiles couldn't see it before.

The stream pooled in there and for a moment Stiles thought that his journey had been in vain, but then the presence in his mind grew in size so much Stiles thought he would faint. His eyes fell on where the water met the stone - or more precisely, where it should have. Instead, the ripples on the water surface travelled below the curtain of green and behind it. Stiles stepped closer and touching the hanging greenery he figured out he would have to tear some of the ivy to make it part. And doing just that, he found himself stepping through onto a narrow, long unused path, as if led by the invisible force. 

The curtain fell back in place behind Stiles, but it didn't get pitch black like he had thought it would. His first assumption, while he had still stood outside, had been that this place was a cave. But now inside and looking around and then up, he realized it was a ravine, an incredibly narrow and tall one, as if this mountain had done offence to some god and he decided to strike it and tear it in half. Very faint light streamed down on the place, but it was enough for Stiles to see. He carried on, watching his step for rocks and dips. Maybe twenty steps in, the narrow space widened a little, forming an oval floor whose sides rose up like ceilings in cathedrals did. Stiles reckoned maybe twenty people would fit in.

Apart from a great piece of stone that vaguely resembled a table, the place was bare, almost too bare. Stiles would have thought that there would be pebbles and dead leaves, mice's bones perhaps, covering the ground. It was only reasonable to assume that things were falling down the ravine here and there. But it looked as if it was swept clean on daily basis.

But wait just a second. There was something, right behind the stone table, Stiles could see a strap of old fur. Or maybe a piece of cloth?

White light flashed before Stiles' eyes as he crouched down to inspect it. His brows narrowed in confusion, then blazed in recognition, and he fell back onto his ass, even as his fingers grasped the straw-stuffed rabbit he had cared about so much once upon a time.

 

 

"Are you sure we're going in the right direction?"

Stiles rolled his eyes before he replied.

"Allison. I've never been here and we don't have a map. I remember some parts of our originally planned journey. I know we have to go north for some time and then start steering west until we find the Emerald Lake. Then along the shore to the city. I'm not really sure, but I'm mostly sure and that's the best we've got so we're going to stick with it."

They had spent the night in the cave-like place Stiles found and in high hopes walked through the ravine once they woke up. To their great relief, it had led them straight through the mountain. From there they had somewhat deduced where the north was - the sun had been rising at their right, so they had started straight ahead. 

"Not to bring your spirits down-," Stiles snorted and Allison smirked; as if the spirits could go much lower, "-but what makes you think Scott will want anything to do with this?"

"Uh," Stiles managed. 

It was a solid question, though. Scott and he... they were friends. At least Stiles would say so without hesitation. But were they good enough friends that Scott would want to help him?

"I don't know," Stiles finally said, looking determinedly ahead and not at Allison. "I hope, I guess."

Allison stayed quiet. Stiles was grateful.

They were still in the woods, only those were not oak, but tall pine trees. The fallen needles covered the ground like a carpet, making their steps silent. Allison took advantage of it in the afternoon and shot a rabbit. They managed to get a fire going and eat and they were almost happy, but after the meal they got thirsty and their surroundings were as dry as a wood could be, with no stream in sight. They got back on their way, finding a road that led in approximately the direction they needed.

"Are you sure you want to follow the road?" Allison asked as they stepped onto the hard-packed dirt.

"Why not?" Stiles replied, looking both ahead and behind. The mountain they had passed through was visible above the treetops.

"Because if they are searching for you, and I'm sure they are, we're very much in the open on the road."

"Yeah, well, I mean, you're right. But I think roads are the best way to get us where we need to go. After all, Emerald Creek is a capital city and roads do tend to get bigger and busier the closer you get."

Allison was visibly mulling it over. Then she shrugged and said: "Whatever you think."

The sun was halfway down when they heard a distant sound of hooves hitting the ground and Stiles suddenly wished he had listened to Allison's advice. He looked at her and found her listening intently, almost like a dog. Even her head was cocked to the side.

"Riders," she said, even as the occasional snorts of horses became distinguishable. "Around ten of them, I'd say. They're in a hurry, but not so much that they can't look around. I think they might be looking for something."

"Someone," Stiles corrected, his heartbeat going up. "What do we do."

"Hide." 

Allison snatched Stiles by the collar and pushed him off the road and among the trees. They ran as fast as they could for a few seconds while the sound of falling hooves grew louder, and then Allison grabbed the back of Stiles' shirt. He stumbled and fell, and was just about to complain when Allison psht-ed him into silence. They were lying rock still in a little hollow where presumably a tree had once stood. Keeping their heads down, they barely breathed.

The group approached quickly but, just like Allison had indicated, not quickly enough to be merely men in haste. Stiles was looking at her and she at him, and it was as if they were communicating their panicked feelings to each other. The horses reached their point and without stop continued down the road. Stiles saw Allison give a little nod and with that permission, he chanced a quick look.

Allison was right in the number, almost. There was twelve of them, not fully armoured but enough to look like a bad dream. Six of the shields on their backs bore the triskele sign of the Hales, six had a _fleur de lis_ that Stiles assumed was the house Argent. He laid back down.

They were looking for them, Stiles was sure. How were they supposed to get to Emerald Creek, persuade Scott - and his parents, presumably - to help, get back to Royal Hill and save Derek and the Hales? (And decide whether Derek and he were to get married, Stiles' brain helpfully supplied.)

Once the dust settled, they carefully got back up. There was only silence around them and it had got even darker. They had maybe an hour until the sunset.

"I don't think we should get back on the road," Allison said tentatively, probably sensing how distraught Stiles felt.

"We better not. It was curving way too much east anyway," Stiles agreed quietly. They started again, with the sun on their left this time, until it got too dark. They had picked some berries along the way and managed to find a stream to spend the night by. As Stiles laid on his back, listening to the rustling of the branches, he reached his hand into his pocket and drew out the cloth toy he had found in the crevice. When he fell asleep, it was with the rabbit clutched safely in his hand.

 

 

"Stiles! Stiles, get up! _Get up!"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, wonderful people, for reading. I hope you have an amazing day and an even better week!
> 
> PS: If you feel like it, you're welcome to my [tumblr](http://www.larryhaylik.tumblr.com). If you're confused with the geography in the fic, [here's a map](http://larryhaylik.tumblr.com/post/157732380218/map-intended-for-teen-wolf-fan-fic-red-lines). (I did my best, okay.)
> 
> PPS: If you're a Harry Potter sorta person, [Fifth Hogwarts](http://www.fifthhogwarts.wordpress.com) is a blog where I develop, well, the fifth Hogwarts house and pretend that it's academia. Which it technically is, since I started it for uni. Anyway, come visit!


	25. 24: Fight And Flight

"Stiles! Stiles, get up! _Get up!_ "

Stiles' eyes slowly opened and it took him solid five seconds before his brain registered something was wrong. Allison was kneeling above him, bow in hand, a look of horror on her face. Stiles sprang up.

"What-"

"Hounds," Allison interrupted, looking frantically around, and Stiles could hear it too, now. Like a hunting party.

"We have to run," Stiles whispered in case the dogs could hear him. As if they needed to, with their sense of smell. 

"There's no point. They'll catch up anyway," Allison argued as the baying got clearer and clearer.

"But we can at least find a place that's to our advantage," Stiles countered, "something slightly elevated, maybe sheltered at one side."

Allison snorted. "Get willingly cornered? I think not."

"Come on, Allison, at least the height advantage," Stiles begged. "I know you have arrows and don't care all that much from where you shoot them, but I don't and I barely ever fought anything, let alone blood-thirsty hounds."

Allison swore under her breath. "Okay. Run."

So they did. The howling resonated through the woods and hit deep inside Stiles. His mind started conjuring up scenarios. He could feel teeth snapping at his ankles, could smell the hot, heavy breath and hear the way his clothes tore. Goosebumps appeared on skin and shivers ran down his spine while waves of fear and adrenaline surged through his body. 

They were lucky the moon was out. Stiles saw a mound to their right and pulled Allison along. It wasn't that high - maybe three feet above the rest - but it would certainly do better than nothing. Stiles grabbed a solid-looking branch before he scrambled up.

Allison had been right - the hounds didn't take long to get to them. When the first one got near enough for Stiles to see properly, his breath caught. Maybe it was the lack of light, maybe the shadow distortion caused by it, but the creature looked enormous. Its teeth glistened and its eyes seemed to shine and then Allison fired an arrow and it fell down dead.

"Should be saving those up, shouldn't you," Stiles croaked weakly.

"I've got you when they run out," Allison replied. It was said in easy tones but Stiles caught the minute tremble hidden behind them.

They stared into the darkness, listening intently to the paws hitting the ground, the barking and howls. Suddenly growling came from their left and they both turned just in time to see a shape lurching at them. 

It was too late for Allison to pull the bow taut, but Stiles was holding the branch in just the right way and it hit the hound straight in the chest. It whined as it fell but was back on all fours and ready almost instantly. 

The sounds got louder and more animals appeared in the circle of Stiles and Allison's sight.

"You watch out for those I miss," Allison commanded, "don't let them get to me. I'll take care of the rest."

Stiles gulped and nodded. It wasn't like he had any better idea. His brain short-circuited as the more primal instincts based on survival pushed through. 

The growling grew in volume as if the pack was communicating a plan, and then one launched and the rest followed.

Distantly, Stiles registered Allison's stone-cold focus on the notch-aim-shoot pattern and in a different situation, he would have wondered how she came to trust him so completely so quickly, but right now, he was way too occupied with defending their outpost. He did quite well, taking into account his inexperience, even if he said so himself. Three dogs jumped at once. Stiles managed to get rid of two, but the third's teeth closed around Allison's ankle and she yelled as it tugged her down. Stiles raised his weapon and hit with all he had. The cracking sound made his stomach turn and the dog let go, fell along with half of Stiles branch, and didn't get up. 

Neither did Allison, for that matter. Instead of wasting time with climbing back to Stiles and risking getting bitten again, she stayed put. Stiles didn't feel comfortable leaving her on the ground, but there were more hounds coming from behind and somebody had to take care of them.

Stiles put all his attention to the task, so when Allison's words finally processed, he was sure she had said them several times already.

"Horses!" she yelled at him, "Stiles, we got to get out of here!"

"How?" Stiles asked, out of breath, as he watched the dog in front of him pace.

"There's not much of them left, we just need to get them all in one place, lure them all out!"

"We are not running away when those beasts are literally at our heels," Stiles gritted out through clenched teeth as he hit. The dog fell, but Stiles could see it breathing. It would wake up soon.

"We have to! I can't shoot them if I can't see them!"

Stiles evaluated. He knew she was right. The horses were getting closer. They had to go.

"Fine," he said. "On your count."

"We go to the right. _My right._ One," Allison began, releasing another arrow. A wet _thunk_ let Stiles know it found its mark. "Two." Stiles prepared to turn around and run. "Three!"

They both bolted. The dogs stood dumbfounded for a split second before they started after them. Five seconds later, Allison yelled "Here!" and jumped up a fallen tree. Stiles stayed below while Allison immediately started shooting. 

There really wasn't much of them anymore. The arrows got three while Stiles managed one and that was it. The time for rest certainly wasn't now, though, because the riders were almost upon them.

"Let's go!" Stiles tugged Allison down and she stumbled as she put weight on her injured leg, hissing in pain.

They had to hide somewhere. Stiles was acutely aware of Allison limp-running next to him. He wanted to help but she brushed him off. When a rock formation arose in front of them, Stiles didn't hesitate. There was a way in, too narrow for horses to use, and he plunged in, Allison in tow. They didn't stop, turning left and right and the sounds of pursuit gradually died down and Stiles started to breathe a little more easily. It seemed that the hunters weren't too keen on following them on foot. 

It might have been a sign that there was something dangerous within the stone paths that outweighed the importance of catching the two of them, but perhaps the riders were just cowards. Either way, Stiles was indefinitely glad.

Allison finally gave up and leaned against him. The effects of the fight-and-flight rush had very probably fallen away by now and her leg must have hurt. They carried on walking until they reached a crossroads. Stiles lowered Allison on the left path. Her eyes stayed closed.

"That was a near miss," she mumbled, lying down on the hard ground.

"Yeah," Stiles said, eyeing Allison's legs that were now closer to him than her head. The left side of her trousers was torn at the ankle and there were dark spots on the skin. Stiles knew it was blood and blood meant a wound and that meant it probably needed cleaning but one, they had no water, and two, Allison was already breathing evenly, with no care in the world, and Stiles' eyelids were drooping as well. Despite his protesting muscles, he crawled into the path they had come out of to mark the way out and promptly followed Allison's example.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My [tumblr](https://larryhaylik.tumblr.com/), the [Fifth Hogwarts House](https://fifthhogwarts.wordpress.com/) project, the [map](http://larryhaylik.tumblr.com/post/157732380218/map-intended-for-teen-wolf-fan-fic-red-lines) made for this fic.
> 
> Hope you all have a lovely week!


	26. 25: Eyes Everywhere

It was cold and damp and Allison's injury was getting worse by the hour. 

When they had woken up the morning after the hound hunt, their backs had been killing them because of the night spent laying on pretty much bare stone and Allison's leg had dried blood all over it. They had managed to find their way out of those rocks and into the open, but the problem of missing water and being lost had not ceased. They had known - and still knew - to go north. But that was it.

Now the world was hidden behind curtains of heavy rain and Stiles sighed as he looked around, water dripping into his eyes and Allison leaning against his side, limping, and valiantly trying not to show any pain her face.

"Do you think we're close?" Allison asked tightly when they jumped over a deep puddle.

"I think we're close-ish," Stiles answered, trying to sound optimistic. He wasn't.

They should have hit the edge of the Emerald Lake by now. It had been nearly five days since their escape from the Silver Sunshine, they were starving, tired and muddy, although not thirsty anymore, thanks to the two days of rain. 

Lost. They were lost, Allison was hurting and Stiles didn't know what to do anymore. 

He felt like a child again. He wished he could curl up on his bed at home, the sounds of his father handling parchments and scribbling words filling the air, warmth coming from the fireplace, and feel safe and cared for. 

Another puddle, another splash of mud. Fog descended over the countryside, the road disappearing into milky nothing mere thirty feet in front of them. Allison stumbled over a stone and yelped in pain, a tear running down her cheek. Or was it a rain drop?

Stiles steered them off the road and below a wide-branched beech tree. It was nearly dry by its trunk. Nearly.

They sat down. Allison's forehead was covered in a sheen of sweat and dampness. The place where she had been bitten was bound by a strap of cloth, but there were red patches soaking through, darker than they should be, and Stiles knew it wasn't just bleeding. They leaned against the wood, her head on his shoulder. 

They fell asleep to the sounds of water splattering over the already wet ground.

 

Stiles looked around himself. Wherever this place was, he knew he had never visited it before. He wasn't sure if this was something you even _could_ visit. 

He was sitting cross-legged on the ground, or better said, on a circular piece of ground three feet in diameter that was seemingly hovering in nothing. Fine lines connected it with other similar things, all different variations of green, from the lightest shades found on the edges of white roses to the deep rich green of holly. The lines were giving out silver shine, illuminating the strange place in white light. Sometimes, a golden wave rippled through them, as if somebody, somewhere, tugged at it and the motion travelled through the web.

Yes, a web, Stiles thought as he reached out with his hand to touch the spring green line closest to him. To his great surprise, his fingers went right through it. Befuddled, he tried again, with the same outcome.

Scrunching his nose, Stiles watched with interest as another golden wave appeared five ground circles away and made its way towards him. It hit his circle and Stiles gasped as a picture unraveled before his eyes, Scott laughing happily as he picked up his sword from the grassy ground.

The vision was gone as fast as it came. Stiles had just enough time to catch his breath before another picture took over and he was standing by the Royal Hill, looking up to the windows. He caught a glimpse of Derek and then it was gone and his heart was beating its way out of his chest.

Stiles mind reeled. Could he be- could he be looking in other people's minds? But that wasn't possible, there was no way anybody could get below Derek's windows, there was an unpenetrable wildness of greenery, nobody was ever able to cut through it. It was just trees and nettle and blackberries and Heavens know what else.

It flashed before Stiles' eyes like a lightning, the memory of a dream he must have dreamt, he and his mother and another Stiles, younger one, a child. They had stood by a tall tree and Stiles was looking for his stuffed rabbit and his mother helped him find it with a little help of a-

Of a tree.

Stiles' eyes widened as it all came back to him, to picture, to prick, to push, and then find.

Stiles felt nauseous. He- He was seeing things through the trees below Derek's window. And there was possibly a tree standing where Scott was training. Another golden flash touched him and he saw his father getting on a horse and he knew this was the pine tree that stood behind the house that showed him.

But if he could see those things... could he find them, too? Call for them?

Stiles closed his eyes and listened and focused. It was as if he was back in the tunnel. At first, he couldn't hear anything except his breathing. So he focused harder and suddenly there were quiet whooshes and pings and Stiles strained his ears and mind to hear, to understand.

Subconsciously, his fingers dug into his ground circle and he could see himself and Allison, lying dirty, wet and asleep below the beech tree. It was such an extraordinary thing to see Stiles lost focus, but he managed to catch it before it slipped away entirely. In his mind, in his dream, in this strange place, he walked along a mint green line, snippets of countryside flashing rapidly until they stopped and Stiles could see a great city on a shore of a green-grey lake; the Emerald City. He opened his eyes and looked about himself. He was sitting exactly the same and the second ground circle to his left was pulsating with light and Stiles knew, he _knew_ , which way they had to go. And that it wasn't far.

The world spiralled, broke apart and Stiles was falling and then awake, as clearly and sharply as if somebody threw a bucket of ice cold water on him. The rain had stopped, Allison was breathing softly with her head still on his shoulder, and his fingernails were buried in the beech's root.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My [tumblr](https://larryhaylik.tumblr.com/), if you have a little time, the [Fifth Hogwarts House](https://fifthhogwarts.wordpress.com/) project, if you're feeling like Harry Potter stuff today & the [map](http://larryhaylik.tumblr.com/post/157732380218/map-intended-for-teen-wolf-fan-fic-red-lines) made for this fic.


	27. 26: Demand

Stiles had been right when he thought they weren't far from the end of their journey. By evening, they reached the outskirts of the town and by chance made it just in time to pass through the city walls before the gates closed. Allison was leaning against him full-time now, and although Stiles wasn't by any means weak, the complete weight of another person was too much for him. 

Finding a little nook, they sat down and breathed. Stiles had expected to feel happy, but he wasn't sure what to feel anymore. He missed his father, he missed Derek, he was scared of what was in his mind, was _in him_. He was cold and tired and just needed a minute. Or a month.

"We won't make it to Scott today, will we?" Allison asked quietly. And a bit hopefully, if Stiles' ears weren't mistaken.

"We need to try, we can't afford to lose time. And your leg needs taking care of," Stiles added, looking at the dirty binding.

Allison didn't look thrilled but there was a flicker of understanding in her eyes, and maybe just a little yearning. She would love to feel safe and taken care of once again as well.

Slowly, they made their way through streets and alleys and the further they went, the cleaner their surroundings got. Stiles was uncomfortably aware of his own soiled clothes and unwashed hair as they neared the perfectly swept square that laid in front of the castle gate. Stiles turned his head to Allison.

"You need to walk by yourself," he said, glancing towards the gate where two guards stood. "We have a better chance if we look like proper important people."

Allison nodded and smiled tightly as she put her weight on the injured leg. Although it broke Stiles' heart, he knew that his assumption was right.

They walked across the square, trying for leisure-slow-because-we-can and not injured-slow-so-we-have-to. The guards noticed them the second they stepped out of the shadow of the street but paid them full attention only when it became obvious that they weren't aiming for anywhere else but the castle. Stiles' palms sweated. He chanced a quick look at Allison, but she looked as composed as if everything was perfectly alright, and Stiles envied her.

"Stop," came a rough voice the second they laid a foot on the final ten-feet-long road that led to the gate. Stiles and Allison stopped.

"We are friends of prince Scott McCall," Stiles said clearly and with as much confidence as he could muster. "We are here to visit."

"Are ya, now?" The voice dripped irony and a man stepped forward. The light finally hit his face and all Stiles could think of was a desperate: _We are not getting past this one_.

The man was tall, with wide shoulders, wide stance and wide eyes that screamed of danger more that the sword that hung at his belt. Stiles gulped and Allison spoke:

"Tell your king that Allison of House Argent and Stiles of House Stilinksi are at his doorstep, awaiting his son's welcome." Her voice didn't shake and if it was Stiles who stood guard at the gate, he would have scurried to obey her. That didn't apply to the actual guard, who snorted.

"I like ya, pretty girl," he laughed, "maybe I'll take ya in. Just ya, though."

Stiles' stomach roiled. 

"I am telling you again," he said firmly, "we are friends of the prince and we demand to be admitted in."

The laughter disappeared from the man's features and in a second, Stiles' face was full of hot, disgusting breath and he was dancing on his tiptoes because the man had lifted him by the collar.

"So ya demand, is that so?" The man growled. "Maybe I'll take just ya in, then. Fuck that attitude right out of ya."

"That's enough," came a different voice and Stiles had completely forgotten about the second guard, but couldn't be happier to hear him. "Maene, that's enough. Let him go."

Apparently-Maene gripped tighter for a second and then let go. 

"Get out," he snarled, stepping back, and Stiles opened his mouth to reason with the second guard but before he could get a word out, the second guard said just the same. Stiles deflated and tears of frustration threatened to spill down his face. He gave a curt nod, turned to Allison and they walked back to where they came from.

Once they were hidden in the shadows, Allison slid down to the ground and moaned in pain. It was quiet for a minute, Stiles' mind reeling and overflowing with desperate thoughts. It was too much. Everything was too much.

"We have to try again," Allison whispered, breaking Stiles' out of his trance. "Tomorrow, after the change of the guards."

"Do you really think-" Stiles began but Allison interrupted him.

"I know you're thinking it's hopeless," she said and Stiles closed his mouth with an audible click. "But it's not. We've come this far for a reason and we are not turning back now." Her voice was rising and some colour pushed itself back into her cheeks. "I want my parents alive and happy. I want my life, the way I like it, not the way Kate planned it out."

Stiles stared, transfixed, and he couldn't believe where all that fierceness was coming from. 

"And I know," she carried on, "that you won't leave Derek behind."

Stiles' throat tightened and he was on the verge of tears again. Allison grabbed his hand and tugged him down so they were face to face.

"I know you love him. You will not give up. You _won't_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My [tumblr](https://larryhaylik.tumblr.com/), if you have a little time, the [Fifth Hogwarts House](https://fifthhogwarts.wordpress.com/) project, if you're feeling like Harry Potter stuff today & the [map](http://larryhaylik.tumblr.com/post/157732380218/map-intended-for-teen-wolf-fan-fic-red-lines) made for this fic.


	28. 27: Beat Them With A Stick

They slept where they fell and when the sun rose, they were surprised to find that the square wasn't just bare stone anymore - the whole space was bursting with stalls and tables, selling everything from fruit and cheese to leather boots and low-quality parchment. Through the middle of it led a clear way towards the castle gate. It took Stiles a moment to notice that there was an unusual amount of guards mingling with the shoppers and sellers.

Stiles looked at Allison.

"Something is happening today," he said, turning back to the crowds. "Are you well enough to go ask around with me, or would you rather stay here?"

Allison flexed her leg and winced.

"I think I'll stay."

"Okay."

Stiles got up and giving Allison a small smile he made his way towards the edge of the crowd and then in. Almost instantly, he was enveloped by the sounds of city life - loud voices, laughter, dull tones of wood hitting wood and the coins clinking. It felt like rediscovering a forgotten world and Stiles relished in it.

"An apple, young man?" A voice said to his right ear and Stiles snapped around. A middle-aged woman was looking at him with a pleasant smile, a basket full of green apples on her arm.

"No, thank you," Stiles answered, "I can't pay for it. But if you could possibly help me..."

The woman smiled encouragingly.

"What is going on in here today?"

"Oh. You must be from very far away not to have heard," she said, "it is the day of the prince's birthday. He will be returning home today to celebrate with his family."

"Returning? Was Scott - was the prince, I mean - on travels?"

"Yes. Although I couldn't tell you where he went off to. Some say it was to his uncle for training in arms, some that for education to Lady Smallflower."

"When is he to arrive, do you know?" Stiles said with barely covered urgency. If Stiles could get Scott's attention as he was riding to the castle...

"An hour or two, the guards were saying."

"Thank you," Stiles said giddily. He couldn't help the wave of elation that swept through him. He left the woman and her apples and wove his way back to Allison. He managed to nick half a loaf of bread from one of the tables when its owner was haggling a price of something with a customer, and he wasn't even sorry about it. Allison was as happy about Scott as Stiles and even happier when he handed her the bread. She eyed him suspiciously for a moment, maybe with a hint of reprimand, but then her stomach rumbled so loudly even Stiles could hear it, and she bit into the baked good.

They tried to devise a plan of getting Scott's attention. There would be guards all over, naturally, meaning that Stiles couldn't simply walk up to him; at least not if he wanted to stay stab-free. Allison proposed Stiles wait at the very end, where there were fewer people. Stiles argued that it gave him less time to get Scott's attention. They were still bickering when a horn sounded and trumpets started blowing in welcome.

Stiles could feel himself going a shade paler. Allison smiled at him.

"Go and do your best," she said and Stiles gulped. This was his chance and he couldn't waste it. He needed Scott's help, both he and Allison did. Stiles took a deep breath and determinedly walked towards the herds of excited people, pushing his way to the spot he deemed best. He ended up face to face with a ginger guard, nerves thrumming.

The voices got louder and then the yells of greeting began, deafening. The sound of hooves got lost in it and before Stiles knew it, the horses were mere two metres away from him, slowly approaching.

"Scott!" Stiles yelled, rising to his tip toes to make himself taller. "Scott, it's me! Stiles! Scott, I need help! Scott!"

The guard in front of Stiles watched him curiously and suspiciously as Stiles continued screaming, his arms waving in the air.

"Scott! Come on, Scott, it's me! Scott!" Scott just passed Stiles and carried on towards the gate. Stiles felt his throat tightening up, but this wasn't the time. He pushed people away to follow the horses. What could he do to get Scott to turn to him? What could he say-

Like a lightning strike, Stiles remembered the day in the Silver Sunshine that Scott and he spent riding through the summer residence's woods, talking and laughing.

_"We need something big and ostentatious, like a war cry."_

_"Um," Stiles hummed. "'Beat them with a stick?'"_

_"What?" Scott laughed. "'Beat them with a stick?'"_

_"What?" Stiles shot back, a bit offended. "As good a cry as any!"_

"Beat them with a stick," Stiles said, his voice drowned by the other voices. Then he began yelling in the earnest, pushing everyone else aside to keep up with the procession. "Beat them with a stick! Scott! Scott, it's me! Beat them with a stick, Scott!"

 

Stiles shuddered as more hot water was poured into the wooden bathtub. He still couldn't believe it had actually worked. Beat them with a stick. When Stiles had screamed the line for the umpteenth time, Scott turned to him but without a hint of recognition continued to the castle. Stiles had given up when the gate closed. He had already turned around and started back to Allison when a hand had fallen on his shoulder and the second guard from the previous night told him that Prince Scott had requested he come. With some difficulty, Stiles had persuaded the guard - Nellur was his name, Stiles learnt later - to let him bring Allison.

When they had stepped through the side doors into the castle yard, Scott was upon them at once. Stiles had barely managed to get out the first sentence of their story before Scott stopped him and with a promise of later conversation and a healer for Allison's leg sent them both to bathe, change and eat.

Stiles had been soaking in the hot water for at least twenty minutes and had no intentions of leaving just yet.

Yes, they were running out of time and Heavens only know what was happening in the Royal Hill, but Stiles knew he would just come across as desperate and potentially a little mad (nevermind that that was exactly how he really felt inside), if he went to speak to Scott and most likely his parents without a proper wash and a meal.

An hour and a half later, scrubbed and nourished, he was sitting at a table, Allison at his side, Scott and Queen Melissa across from him (the king was permanently outside the city). He had already described everything about Allison's and his way to the Emerald City. Both Scott and the Queen nodded, smiled and barely concealed horror all through it, but Stiles could tell that they still had no idea what the whole purpose of their coming was.

"What I have come to ask of you," Stiles said at last, his heart nearly beating its way out of his chest, "is help."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed it! xx
> 
> [tumblr](https://larryhaylik.tumblr.com/) & [the Fifth Hogwarts House project](https://fifthhogwarts.wordpress.com/) & [map made for this fic](http://larryhaylik.tumblr.com/post/157732380218/map-intended-for-teen-wolf-fan-fic-red-lines)


	29. 28: Let The Banners Fly

"Help?" Scott asked, brows furrowing.

"Yes." Stiles looked at his hands for a second and then lifted his head up to look into both Scott's and the Queen's face properly. "I am fully aware that you have no obligations and no interest whatsoever in helping me, but that is what I have to come here for. The Beacon Army is unconditionally loyal to the Hale family, but Peter is a Hale as well, and for as long as he holds the power over them, they will not strike, they will not risk the lives of the other members of the family. But if the King should command them - or the Queen if she still-," Stiles gulped to try to get rid of the tightness of his throat, "-if she still lives - they will overthrow the Argent rule. I have a way of getting into the castle unnoticed, I just need men to distract the Silver Army while I go in, find the family and get rid of Peter and Kate."

Stiles had no idea where that confidence was coming from. His brain screamed that this was crazy, pure madness, but the more calculative and vengeful side of him sat calmly and nodded in approval. He could do this. He _would_ do this.

"No," Queen Melissa said.

Stiles deflated.

"Queen Mel-"

"Stop. You don not understand," she interrupted him, holding her hand up. "We do have interest in the matter. Losing our trade connections and political ties with your Kingdom would be disastrous to us. It is vital we have a good reputation on your court and that there is an amiable person sitting on the throne."

Stiles' heart jumped. Did that mean...?

"I, however, have a few conditions." The Queen watched him like a hawk.

"I will do my best, your Highness, but I cannot promise much. I am not, after all, a legal part of the family."

"Your best should do," she smiled a little and Stiles could suddenly see the resemblance between her and Scott. "What I will need is your promise to try and persuade your finance maester to pay for a half of the expenses."

"Your Highness-"

"I said promise to try," she interrupted him again, this time with more force behind her words. Stiles took the hint and kept quiet. "Secondly, you will become the voice of Scott's support in your Kingdom. We have attempted several times to bond through marriage with the Hales, but our talks have not come to a satisfactory end just yet. You will help with those talks and make sure everything of ours is shown in a good light.

"And lastly," Queen Melissa's voice softened, as did the features of her face, "you will not go in alone. I do not think it wise and, without meaning offence, I do not believe you stand a chance on your own. Do you agree to those terms?"

Stiles looked at Scott whose face told him nothing. He glanced at Allison; she nodded curtly. Stiles took a deep breath.

"I do." 

 

That night, Stiles didn't get much sleep. He, Scott and the Emerald Army's chief commander Mahealani sat at a table, devising the shortest and most comfortable ways of getting to the Royal Hill and drawing the main body of the Argent and Hale combined forces out. Allison was there, too. At first, Scott had thrown Stiles confused looks while Mahealani looked slightly offended at having a woman in the room, but once they had started planning, Allison thought of nearly all solutions to their problems. 

When the meeting adjourned, nearly asleep on their feet, both Scott and Mahealani nodded at Stiles in apology. Stiles bristled a little inside - it wasn't him to whom they should apologise - but he accepted nonetheless. And tried to ignore the obvious curiosity with which Scott watched Allison's every move.

With a greeting of a good night, although the first signs of sunrise could be seen on the horizon, they disappeared into their respective rooms. Both Stiles and Allison were given one, right next to each other.

"You know," Stiles said before the door managed to close definitively behind Allison, and she turned back to him, "if you wanted to stay out of this, I wouldn't blame you. You have helped me so much already, saved my life, and I'm dragging you into more danger."

To Stiles' great surprise, Allison snorted.

"Like you would survive five minutes without me," she grinned and Stiles smiled back. "But you know why I did what I did. It's not just your future that's hanging on a thread. Besides, I have grown a bit fond of you. You are not getting killed under my watch."

"Fair enough," Stiles nodded and yawned.

"Go to bed," Allison said, "I'll see you in a few hours."

"Good night."

"Good night."

Two doors clicked shut and Stiles turned to face his room - rather small, a lot comfortable, with a bed that felt like heaven when Stiles collapsed on it. He meant to go over their plan one more time in his mind, but the second his head met the pillow, he was fast asleep.

It felt like mere seconds had passed when there was a loud knock and a woman's voice was calling out a good morning and suddenly the plump middle-aged lady with apples from the market went through the door and laid a washbasin on the table. 

Stiles watched blearily as she whirled round and with a curtsy and "The breakfast will be served in half an hour, sir!" disappeared back into the hall.

With a groan, Stiles pushed himself up and found out he hadn't stripped out of his clothes last night. Usually, he would be ashamed of himself, but now he thanked the Heavens he wasn't expected to lace his breeches up properly. Walking over to the table, he blinked at his reflection in the mirror before splashing his face with ice-cold water. That woke him up quite a bit.

Breakfast was a short affair and the packing even shorter. Stiles watched in amazement at the five hundred men that assembled on the square in front of the castle. How the county's officers managed to gather them at such a short notice was beyond him.

Nevertheless, by the time the church struck ten o'clock, Queen Mellisa had said her goodbyes, commander Mahealani got on his horse and to the front, and they were on their way.

Stiles took a last look at the castle, looked over at Allison and Scott, both of which were in the saddle beside him, and gripped the reigns tighter.

He had made it here. And he would carry on to the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A thousand times thank you to everyone who reads, love to all who press the Kudos button, and to the comment writers - you are precious and I hope your week will be sunshine and rainbows.
> 
> Also, I'd like to point out that the quick army assembly and all other army stuff is either wholly made up or a mixture of facts, other books and my fantasy. I personally don't think an army can be raised overnight with previous planning and history books would probably claim the same.
> 
> [tumblr](https://larryhaylik.tumblr.com/) & [the Fifth Hogwarts House project](https://fifthhogwarts.wordpress.com/) & [map made for this fic](http://larryhaylik.tumblr.com/post/157732380218/map-intended-for-teen-wolf-fan-fic-red-lines)


	30. 29: Retracting Footsteps

That night, after everyone except for the guards laid down to sleep, stars twinkling above them, Stiles dreamt of Derek. Of the tentative smile that appeared on his lips when Stiles said something inappropriate or gestured wildly, of his hands when they slipped around Stiles' waist, of the gentle breath that hit the back of Stiles' neck when they slept together. The clean smell of his skin when Stiles buried his nose into Derek's neck and the soft sounds that escaped him when they were intimate.

Stiles woke up with his chest and cock aching, but the desperate feeling of something missing was too great to allow him to seek physical relief, and he decided to put his attention elsewhere.

It had been their second and final day on the road. 

Although Stiles' mind should have been concerned with was about to happen, he couldn't help but notice the looks Scott kept giving Allison. A curious peek there, as she flicked her hair off her face, an entranced gaze when she rode before Scott.

Stiles spurred his horse and caught up with Scott, poking into his shoulder to wake him up. Scott startled and nearly fell off. Allison turned around to see what the fuss was about, raised an eyebrow at Scott's dishevelled look and Stiles' slightly sly smile, and turned back.

"What did you do that for?" Scott hissed, cheeks flushed. Stiles would have felt sorry, except it was kind of cute and a whole lot of hilarious.

"Just wanted to talk," Stiles grinned. "Maybe perhaps possibly wanted to ask if you're maybe perhaps possibly developing tender feelings for the lovely lady right over there." He waved his hand in Allison's direction and enjoyed the new wave colour that pushed into Scott's cheeks.

"Is this a revenge for me asking about Derek that one time?"

"You wound me!" Stiles gripped at his chest where his heart was. "I would never!"

"Truly," Scott mumbled.

"But you didn't answer the question," Stiles singsonged the last word, leaning his head towards Scott.

"Well, she undeniably a wonderful lady..."

"Yes?" Stiles encouraged.

"Quite beautiful..."

"Indeed."

"Clever, I have to give her that."

"And...?"

"I might like her attitude."

Stiles waited. Scott sighed.

"I might like her."

"There we go!" Stiles yelled, drawing all eyes to them.

"Shut it, would you?!" Scott whispered furiously, trying to hide his burning face.

"Now, Scotty, there's nothing to be ashamed of!" Stiles was fully aware that he was shining like the sun itself. "You like a lady, that has happened to more chivalrous men than you!"

"Was that supposed to make me feel better," Scott grumbled. "I should have left you standing in front of the gate. Menace."

As the plan went, they made a stop at the Silver Sunshine which was - as expected - completely vacated. While they had been talking this part over, Allison shared a bit of her aunt's thinking, that she always made sure to have all possible power within reach. The news of the Emerald Army making its way towards Royal Hill had spread fast, and so Kate assembled all forces in the capital, leaving the summer residence empty.

Scott was staring at the entrance to the tunnel with deep distrust and quite honestly, Stiles couldn't blame him.

"You really want to go down there?" Scott asked incredulously as he inspected the first few feet of the passage.

"We already have," Allison replied before Stiles had a chance to, and smiled. "No monsters down there as far as we know."

"But don't you a least want to take a light with you?"

"No. It would only make the journey worse. Plus it would consume the air and we can't risk that with how faint the flow is," Stiles said, tugging at the back of Scott's shirt to make him step aside.

Scott did, giving them one last worried look as they entered the tunnel. Stiles turned around.

"Thank you, Scott," Stiles said softly. "For helping me."

"For helping us," Allison followed, shifting from leg to leg.

"Stop it, or I'm going to blush," Scott replied, light pink sheen appearing on his cheekbones for about seventh time that day, and smiled. "Have a safe way. See you on the other side."

"Hopefully," Stiles murmured, took a deep breath, and began into the dark, Allison in tow.

The sounds of life slowly faded away as they descended, this time with no regard to the noise they made. Stiles had warned Scott that they might hear some shuffling and scratching as he and Allison went through the walls. Scott had lifted one disbelieving eyebrow, shrugged and promised not to try and take apart the stones.

Stiles didn't know exactly how long the journey would take them, but the estimation was around one full day. Scott was to go with the army to Royal Hill and, well, take the castle guards' attention off of anything else. Create a distraction.

This time around, Stiles thought to himself as he felt along the cold wall of the tunnel, he was almost comfortable. Being down here for the third time took away the fear of stepping into a hole or banging his head into the ceiling. He could tell that Allison was still unsure about the confined space, but she didn't complain once and Stiles didn't ask.

When tiredness sank in, they sat down, fell asleep for a couple of hours - possibly, there was no telling except for their confused inner clock - and then carried on until Stiles noticed the shift of sound and a few steps after, he found himself in a dead end with an echo coming from above.

"This is it," Stiles whispered, aware that they were close enough to the castle's usually populated areas and should thereby stay as silent as possible if they wanted to get in without being noticed.

That was the plan. Get in, find Derek first - because Stiles actually knew where he was, thanks to his still scary talent he wished to forget about - and with his help find the King, hopefully the Queen, and then Laura and Cora if they still hadn't been discovered by that point. Commander Mahealani had called that highly improbable, and Stiles had to agree. After that, the King or the Queen were to call for the raising of the banners and mark Peter and anyone from the Kingdom of Silver as the enemy. Which would give the Beacon Army a definite permission and encouragement to overthrow Peter's rule. The Emerald Army would deal with anyone outside the Royal Hill's walls while the Beacon Army took care of the inside. Simple.

Which was probably why none of that happened.

Stiles climbed up the last step, pushed away the stone behind which the hidden room was and pulled himself up. As he straightened, Allison scrambling behind him, he came face to face with two fully armed guards, Peter, Kate and Theo. Theo, whose fingers held a dagger that was pressed onto kneeling Derek's throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning for next two weeks: I'm taking a trip to the US (YAYYYYY!!!) and I'm not sure if I'll be able to post in usual times, so don't panic if next weeks' chapters come a day or two late - I am not abandoning my baby fan fic, just enjoying Universal Studios or something. 
> 
> Have a great week! xx
> 
> [tumblr](https://larryhaylik.tumblr.com/) & [the Fifth Hogwarts House project](https://fifthhogwarts.wordpress.com/) & [map made for this fic](http://larryhaylik.tumblr.com/post/157732380218/map-intended-for-teen-wolf-fan-fic-red-lines)
> 
> UPDATE: I'm so sorry, guys, but turns out there's no laptop/computer I could use for final editing and uploading - I'll get the new chapter/s to you asap.


	31. 30: Coming To Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so very sorry for the delay again & I warn that next week might be similar, as Sunday will see me on a disgustingly long flight back to Europe.
> 
> So as a peace offering of sorts, here's a double chapter. I hope you enjoy it & have a great week! xx

The speed with which Allison burst to action made Stiles's head spin.

Later on, Stiles is going to yell at Allison for putting Derek in danger. And Allison is going to nod graciously and then tell him he's welcome.

That is, if they get out of this alive.

With a pained yell, Theo's hand flew away from Derek, an arrow sticking from his hand. Derek immediately went for the dropped dagger, but Theo was having none of it. A loud _crunch_ echoed through the room as he stomped on Derek's hand, surely breaking several fingers, and Derek grunted. Stiles' vision went red around the edges and he wanted to run to him, but one quick look from Derek told him to stay put.

Another one of Allison's arrows buried itself in one guard's neck but before she could fire another, Kate was upon her, knocking the bow out of her hand and catching Allison's hair in a fist. She yanked roughly backwards, throwing Allison of balance. Allison stumbled, falling down and taking Kate with her.

Stiles stood there, frozen and indecisive. His eyes caught Peter's for a moment and the man gave him a wide smile, an eyeroll and a hand gesture that made him look like an exasperated parent who had given up on order and patiently waits as his kids run loose. Stiles didn't have time to contemplate this a lot. The second guard was steadily approaching, a sword in hand, and Stiles stepped back for as long as he could, behind the curved wall he and Allison came out of, until his back hit the wall.

 _Stupid, stupid,_ Stiles cursed internally, reaching for the knife at his belt, gripping the handle tightly. Why didn't he take the sword as well? His knife would be about as helpful as a stick was at cutting down a tree. What should he do? What should he- but he can- yes, _that's it-_

The man charged and in a split second Stiles simultaneously ducked and pushed at the opening stone. Not able to stop the momentum, the guard tripped over crouched Stiles and fell down, landing with a distinct sickening crunch. Stiles shivered, breathing heavily. That's when he noticed how unusually quiet it was in the room and his heart tightened.

Cautiously peeking out, Stiles went pale when he saw the blood on the floor. His eyes zeroed on Derek.

Derek was once again on his knees with a blade at his throat, but now his chest was raising with short pained breaths and blood steadily dripped from his nose and split lip onto his shirt. One of his hands was cradling the other and from the almost imperceptible tightness in his face, Stiles could tell it hurt a lot more than a stranger would see at the first glance.

Stiles had been so excited to see Derek again. Maybe kiss him when they found him, tell him he missed him so much. 

Stiles stared at Derek and Derek stared back. Something settled between them and Stiles looked over at Allison.

She was just the same as Derek, only her life was threatened by Kate and instead of a bloody nose, Stiles could see blood welling on the top of her head where Kate must have torn out a fistful of hair. Her arrows were still in the quiver on her back but the bow was lying broken a few feet in front of her.

"Now that the child's play is over," Peter's voice registered in Stiles' brain and he turned to face him, "let's start talking."

Stiles tracked Peter's every movement, opting to stay quiet. If he knew what this was about, maybe he could figure out a way to get out of this with no precious lives lost.

"You see, Stiles," Peter carried on, pacing in front of the curtain to the hall. "I have always had grand plans. Or schemes, you might say." Peter grinned at Stiles as if they shared a joke. "I love power, I seek power, but I couldn't have it here, oh no, not with my precious older sister, so wise and capable and adored, sitting on the throne. I found like-minded people, people who were willing to help me and themselves to something better." Both Peter and Stiles glanced at Kate and Theo, and suddenly Stiles could see the similarities. They didn't say for nothing that birds of a feather flock together.

"I won't bore you with the details. You are quite intelligent and resourceful, and I feel that I would only be telling you what you already know." Peter bowed his head a little. Stiles knew it was meant as a compliment but he steadfastly refused to accept it. 

"But even the greatest plans fall before the simple frailty of human life." Peter stopped pacing to look at Stiles instead. "Sickness comes quick, uninvited and unexpected, and there tends to be little you can do."

"Tends to be?" Stiles asked. Sick. Peter was sick. That's why he was enveloped by that rotting sweet smell that day in the library - the illness was eating away at him.

Peter grinned like a shark.

"I am glad you caught that small word. Yes, tends to be. For certain individuals, there are occasional exceptions. Or should I say, there are exceptional individuals who can provide certain assistance." Peter's gaze grew heated. "That's why you are here."

_What?_

"What?" Stiles asked blandly. Peter wasn't making any sense. Sure, Stiles could bandage a cut finger without a problem but he seriously doubted he could cure whatever was currently residing in Peter's body.

Not to mention he wasn't exactly inclined.

Allison twitched and Kate hissed, pressing the blade closer to her throat.

"Oh, but you must know by now," Peter smiled. "You and I both know that there is something quite extraordinary about you."

Could Peter- could Peter know about-? But not even Stiles was aware of what lay hidden inside him a week ago and he still wasn't sure about, well, _anything_ , where his talent was concerned.

"I can see it dawning on you." Peter's eyes glinted and he took a step closer to Stiles. Judging from the entranced look on his face, Stiles assumed Peter didn't even know he had. "You know just as well as I do that you can do things no one else can do. But the important part of this is, what you can do now is not all you're capable of. I was there when you were reading the book. I'm sure you remember what has to be done in order for you to reach your full potential."

Stiles stared dumb-founded at Peter. He couldn't possibly be suggesting that Stiles was, what, a witch? That his power or whatever could be unravelled by undergoing the awakening ritual?

"You're crazy," Stiles said plainly.

"But of course. Otherwise this would never work out." Peter made an all-encompassing gesture.

"If I really were that person," Stiles said, putting emphasis on _if_ , "if there really was a power inside me that could break through - how come I can already see things, feel things? I haven't gone through the rituals, I shouldn't be able to do this."

Peter smiled as if he knew something Stiles didn't. Stiles supposed he did. And that he was about to share it.

"Oh, but that is one mistaken claim. You have been to a ritual before. The only problem is you haven't gone completely through it." 

Stiles scrunched up his nose in confusion. "What do you mean, completely through it?"

"I assume you remember the part where two mirroring scars are carved into one's skin." Peter waited for Stiles to nod. "Have you never wondered where that scar on your hip came from?"

Stiles froze. 

Peter wasn't supposed to know that. Barely three people in the whole world did.

"You're wrong." Stiles' voice had a slight tremor to it.

"But am I?" Peter took a step closer to Stiles, then another, steadily making his way towards the boy. "I'm sure you don't know where it came from. It's always been there, hasn't it? For as long as you can remember, it has been sitting there - almost the same length of time as your mother has been gone, am I right?"

"What has my mother got to do with this?" Stiles stepped back, trying to put space between him and Peter, but the other man single-mindedly continued forward.

" _Everything_ is the only answer to your question. You see, magic is traced and kept track of in the old families that used to be a part of the community a thousand years back. Your mother knew you were special. The year of the coming of someone with your talent was calculated and settled decades ago. When you were born, she knew what she was holding in her arms. And she knew she had to let your talent blossom from an early age."

"I don't know what you're talking about. This is madness," Stiles whispered. One last step brought his back to the wall and Peter mere five inches from his face.

"But it makes sense, doesn't it, it all fits when your clever little brain looks at it. Your mother began the ritual when you were about two, I reckon, although only she and the witness would know the exact date. A child that little wouldn't survive the weight of a full change, so she only performed one half of it to stir the beginnings of your powers, so she could teach you. Oh, yes," Peter grinned sweetly when Stiles' eyes widened, "she was the same as you. Well, her powers were weaker than yours will be, but she had enough to show you what she needed.

"She wanted to finish the change when you reached the age of five. She had everything prepared to the last detail, I'm sure, but even she couldn't forsee those who were against magic. They found her, a knife in hand, and well," Peter's smile widened, "killed her. The witness managed to steal you away and bring you back home."

"Why don't I remember, then?" Stiles didn't know if he believed Peter or not. But something did ring true in his mind. It scared him more than he could tell.

"You were a child who saw his mother murdered. Suppressed memories, I would say. Anyhow, the ritual wasn't completed. I'll finish it and you will help me otherwise your friend here and maybe even my darling nephew will come to an ugly end." Peter stepped back. Stiles sagged against the wall, releasing the breath he had been holding, and something clicked in his mind.

"Wait a minute." Peter cocked his head to a side as Stiles straightened up. "You said my mother carried out the ritual?"

"Yes."

"But for that ritual, you have to have a red-line knife, isn't that right?"

"Indeed. One that has been used by its carrier to kill someone."

"Then I suppose you miscalculated," Stiles said coldly as he stared at Peter, taking a step forward. "My mother would never kill someone."

Peter sighed as if a kid was asking him silly questions. "My dear Stiles. She believed in what she did. Such a detail wouldn't stop her."

"Lies," Stiles hissed, jabbing a finger into Peter's chest. "She would never-"

"You barely knew her," Peter cut him off, catching his wrist in a strong grip. "She was perfectly willing to cut her own child in order to fulfil a century old claim. She died when you were five and you forgot most of the little you knew - you thought you knew - about her."

"How do you know?" Stiles nearly yelled, anger taking over him. "How could you possibly know any of that?"

"Well, because I told him." Stiles turned around to face Kate, who was smiling widely, sharp teeth glinting, hand steady on Allison's throat. "I was there as a magic hunter in training with my father. I was the one who witnessed my father wringing the answers from her. "Her eyes flashed and she grinned, shark-like. "I was the one who ended her miserable, worthless life."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [tumblr](https://larryhaylik.tumblr.com/) & [the Fifth Hogwarts House project](https://fifthhogwarts.wordpress.com/) & [map made for this fic](http://larryhaylik.tumblr.com/post/157732380218/map-intended-for-teen-wolf-fan-fic-red-lines)


	32. 31: Wind, Water, Fire & Earth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies again for the delay. I am home now, so we're back to the usual Sunday schedule. Not for long, though - we're almost there xx

The stunned silence that followed Kate's statement was almost palpable. All eyes turned to Stiles as if everyone thought he would leap and claw Kate's throat open, but Stiles couldn't move an inch, his vision veiled by a red-white haze. A memory of his mother flickered faintly through his mind, one where she was standing by a table, laying down a freshly-baked apple pie, smiling as little Stiles jumped on a chair and promptly asked for a piece. The moment was gone in a second and left Stiles feeling as if he was split open. The sudden pain cut through the lethargy like a knife.

 _For once, I'm living up to people's expectations,_ Stiles remarked coldly as he lurched forward quicker than he had ever moved, his target set firmly on Kate.

Kate screamed when Stiles' nails bit into her cheeks and tore down, drawing blood. It was too easy to get to her and Stiles wondered, as his fingers gripped around her throat, whether maybe she didn't anticipate he would actually try and hurt her. Then he noticed that Allison had a strong grip on the dagger that had previously been on her throat and was fighting tooth and nail - literally - to wrench it from Kate's fingers. Sending a silent thank-you to Allison for her assistance, Stiles grinned madly and dug his fingers into Kate's flesh, making her gasp for air. Some sort of sick satisfaction cursed from him, driving his anger higher.

"Do you think this is what she felt li-?" Stiles had a chance to growl before a strong hand took him by the shoulder and yanked back. Losing his balance, Stiles fell backwards, hitting the stone floor with a pained grunt and an unfamiliar weight on his chest. Peter's teeth glinted from where he was towering above Stiles, his knees on either side of Stiles' hips, hands on Stiles' chest, pinning him down.

Stiles could hear Allison still struggling, Derek's heavy breathing and Theo's friendly advice to Derek to stay put.

"Now, that wasn't very nice, was it?" Peter said in mock-reprimand, clicking his tongue. The palm that rested on Stiles' sternum pressed down viciously and Stiles may have had no idea what was hidden below the skin there, but the pressure had him screaming.

"Enough!" Stiles heard Derek yell and a second later, Peter was flying off and Derek was kneeling on the floor next to Stiles, reaching for his hand and searching Stiles' body for a serious injury. Theo was lying few feet behind him. Derek must have thrown him off after all. Stiles smiled, his breathing still heavy from the pain, and joined their fingers. There was a soft wet _thud_ and Derek's eyes widened as he exhaled harshly, letting go of Stiles in favour of scrabbling his fingers over his stomach.

Derek's stomach, where a dark red spot grew in size with every second.

Stiles stared transfixed at the blood, refusing to believe his eyes. Derek fell on his back, revealing a sharply grinning Theo whose hand clasped a dagger.

A light cough sounded from behind Stiles but he didn't turn around, all focus on Derek. How did this- what has just-

"You see, Stiles," Peter said, a little breathy. Stiles supposed he was gathering himself from the floor. "I am a patient man, but I've waited long enough. If I have to sacrifice my family to reach my goal, I will. And now you'll help me, willingly and without question, because however much you hate me, or Kate, or Theo, you care for Derek more and you want to save him, don't you?"

Derek's eyes were fixed on Stiles, his head shaking _no_ , while his palm pressed over his wound in an attempt to slow down the bleeding.

"And you could. So easily," Peter carried on, walking to Stiles. "Just lay back like the good boy you are and let me work."

"Stiles," Derek whispered and Stiles looked up, his heart tightening at the sight of Derek's ashen face. "Don't."

"I have to." Scooting closer, Stiles lay his hand on Derek's cheek. "You cannot ask me to give up the one chance I have on keeping you alive. I can't let you go. I won't. I love you." From the widening of Derek's eyes, Stiles knew his words had surprised him, but not possibly more so than they surprised Stiles himself. He didn't have a reason, he didn't have an explanation, but even as the declaration left his lips, he knew it to be true.

"But aren't you two just adorable," Kate sneered from the left, shattering the moment. "Waiting another minute could cost both you and us dearly, though, so get on with it."

Stiles gave her a look of hatred, disgust and everything else you would find on the unpleasant side of things. She accepted it with cold disinterest.

"True indeed," Peter said, clapping his hands, "let's begin. Stiles, move away from him. I won't have him close enough to disturb the process."

With one last look and one last squeeze of a hand, Stiles stood up and walked to where Peter waited with a slender knife made of tarnished silver clasped in his hand. Stiles did his best to ignore it as he sat down on the old armchair.

"Shirt off," Peter commanded. Stiffly, Stiles obeyed, dropping the clothing onto the floor. He still didn't really believe anything would happen, but he started to hope it would. Blood was slowly spreading around Derek even as he watched, and his face grew paler with every minute. Stiles shuddered at the thought of losing him.

"Before I start, I'd like to warn you," Peter said, looking straight at Stiles."If you attempt to sabotage the ritual in any way, Theo will make sure Derek has no chance of making it through. And Kate will kindly do the same for the young lady Allison."

"But you need her, don't you?" Stiles couldn't help himself but note, his voice trembling - whether from nerves, fear or rage, he couldn't tell. "If Theo wants the Kingdom of Silver, he has to marry her."

Peter barked out a delighted laugh. "You really do know a lot, don't you? Well, Allison would be preferable, yes, young and beautiful as she is." He nodded towards her. Allison's features twisted into those of disgust. "But she isn't the only one. In case of the main royal line dying out, the heritage and privilege pass on to the closest family. Kate."

Stiles looked over at Theo, whose face was schooled into a perfect mask. Just a slight twitch in his jaw betrayed the fact that he wasn't overly excited about the prospect. At least in one way you're not completely crazy, Stiles thought to himself.

"Now. Listen to what I tell you and follow the directions. We don't want any problems." Peter kneeled in front of Stiles, who just barely stopped himself from hysterically pointing out that this whole situation was one big problem.

"Hands out, palms up."

Stiles inhaled deeply to calm himself a little and did as he was told. Peter laid the knife on his palms.

" _To the wind, water, fire, and earth, I call_ ," Peter began and Stiles could instantly tell this was it; and not just from Peter's words. At first he thought it was simply his hands shaking, but no; the knife was vibrating slightly as Peter spoke.

" _I call for your wisdom, I call for your power, and I ask of you to devour what old time hid from the present._ "

Stiles' heart was beating frantically in his chest as warmth spread throughout his body. A presence was growing inside him, not unlike to what he felt in the valley with the lake and hidden ravine, and he wasn't sure how to accept it. He stared wide-eyed at the knife that started to emanate faint white light, trying to distract himself from the feeling of his skin being too small for his body.

" _I ask of you to shine, to lend your blazing spark and raise the light so that this man may see the glory you provide._ "

Stiles let out a pained breath. His chest was too tight, his heart was too tight, everything was too tight, everything felt as if it was about to burst, tear Stiles to little pieces. It wouldn't be so bad, Stiles thought as he gritted his teeth, it wouldn't be so bad to fall apart. At least he would not have to endure this anymore.

A corner of his mind registered that Derek's eyes were on him. Distantly, he heard Allison repeating his name. He barely noticed Peter picking up the knife. The room faded away as did all else.

" _Wind, give him change, water, grant him flow. Fire, let your flames burn high and higher, until there is naught but glow._ "

Stiles could feel the fire. In his bones, on his skin, scorching his brain and consuming his thoughts. Something incredibly hot touched him right of his navel and drew a line out, towards his hip. A red line, Stiles thought hysterically, gripping the upholstery, tearing through it. His hips lifted off but something pressed him back. He couldn't. He couldn't. Make it stop. Make it stop.

Peter spoke up again, and there was finality in his voice.

" _Earth, welcome your child into your home._ "

Stiles screamed. And screamed and screamed and screamed, he couldn't stop, he didn't have the wherewithal to even attempt to. His body felt as if it was re-arranging itself, breaking in on itself and building everything back together, cell by cell, bone by bone. The world ceased to exist, or perhaps Siles did. How was he to tell?

The world was burning and Stiles was aflame.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [tumblr](https://larryhaylik.tumblr.com/) & [the Fifth Hogwarts House project](https://fifthhogwarts.wordpress.com/) & [map made for this fic](http://larryhaylik.tumblr.com/post/157732380218/map-intended-for-teen-wolf-fan-fic-red-lines)


	33. 32: Red Lines

It was hard to tell whether reality was reality when Stiles came to. For one, Stiles was fairly sure that on usual days, floors were not mostly cover with blood, there weren't unconscious and possibly dead bodies lying about, and there certainly were no disturbingly sharp teeth so close to his face.

Stiles blinked rapidly and a face slowly came to focus. 

"Did it work? It had to work."

 _Did what work?_ Stiles wanted to ask but then everything came crashing down and his head snapped towards the lifeless bodies, desperately trying to distinguish who was who. 

Kate was the furthest away from him, face down, a hilt of a dagger sticking from her back. Allison, lying on her side right next to Kate, clutched on a wound on her stomach - a deep one if Stiles could judge from the amount of blood trickling through her fingers. But she was alive and that was what mattered.

Six feet from Allison, there were two forms entangled like roots - Theo, out cold, and frighteningly pale Derek whose arm was wrapped loosely around Theo's neck. From where Stiles laid, there was no chance of telling whether he was breathing or not.

"Look at me!"

Turning his head slowly, Stiles looked up. Peter was kneeling on his side, clutching the front of Stiles' shirt as if he was ready to shake him apart if he didn't pay attention.

"Did it work? Did it?!"

"How would I know?" Stiles rasped, coughing.

Peter gripped the fabric tighter. Stiles inhaled deeply and searched through himself, looking for something... new, perhaps? Unusual? He felt that the cut on his hip wasn't bleeding, which had seemed curious until he realised he had no idea for how long he had been out. Flexing his fingers and toes felt normal, as did blinking, breathing, thinking. There was nothing different.

"I don't feel anything," Stiles whispered.

"Focus," Peter hissed. "We've done everything right. Your lover here is on the very brink of death - and you want him to live, don't you? So _focus_."

So Derek still _lived_. Stiles sighed in relief internally. But if he intended to keep it that way, he would have to provide something, a little help.

He closed his eyes and looking again found himself sinking somewhere deeper. For some time, there was nothing - not darkness, not silence - just nothing. Then small spots of white and golden light appeared, then lines in different shades of green, all connected to each other. It was almost like the place Stiles had fallen into when he and Allison had taken a nap underneath the tree on their way to Scott, only this time Stiles wasn't just sitting somewhere, touching unfamiliar things. He _was_ one of the things.

Stiles rose his arm and the green lines went with it, wrapped around him like a safety blanket. He closed his hand into a fist and quickly opened it; the lines burst forward a little. Some came back, some stayed where they were, or twinned with others that didn't belong to Stiles. With a twist of his wrist, Stiles tugged a ball of golden light closer and set it into his palm - with a small sound like the snapping of a twig, he suddenly saw Scott, standing with a hand on his sword in front of the gate into the Royal Hill. He and his men had broken through the outer walls and were about to enter the castle.

Stiles smiled.

"What is it?"

Peter's demanding voice reached Stiles in muted waves, like he was speaking through a curtain. Blinking his eyes open, Stiles stared at him, sure of one thing. Whatever it was that Peter had made possible, whatever talent Stiles now fully possessed, it would not heal Peter. Stiles could see things, that was true. He was even convinced he could move some parts of the natural world and bend greenery to his will, perhaps communicate with someone else with the same powers across great distances; but he could not cure what was residing in Peter's body.

It also meant Stiles couldn't save Derek.

Derek would die.

"I can't help you," Stiles choked out, his throat tightening. He would lose Derek.

"What do you mean, you can't help me?!" Peter growled, tugging Stiles upwards by his shirt. The movement disturbed Stiles' injury and he hissed.

"I don't have the power to heal you."

Peter stared at him and Stiles could see as the realisation of spoken truth dawned on Peter, turning to hopelessness and then to rage.

"I didn't come all this way to fail," Peter hissed, voice full of venom, and leaned closer to Stiles. "I didn't make all this happen to stop now. Try, Stiles, because otherwise I'm going to make sure not you nor Derek, or even the girl are getting out of this alive."

"I can't-"

"Try!" Peter screamed and Stiles blanched, unable to look away from the madness clear in Peter's features. He searched in himself again and came to the same conclusion.

"There's nothing in me I could use to heal you," Stiles said.

"That's impossible!" Peter gritted through his teeth. The anger was obvious in his face. "I found everything there was to find, every scrap information. A boy, motherless, with magical heritage and a scar on his hip. It had to be you. It _has_ to be you." 

"You just missed something along the way. It happens," Stiles said, keeping his voice quiet to not aggravate Peter even more. 

It was the wrong thing to say.

"Missed something" Peter laughed manically, baring his teeth. "Years of searching, years of preparation, years of looking for something that would make me right again so I could have the life I've always wanted. Do you think I would have missed something?" The volume of Peter's voice was steadily rising, spit flying from his mouth. There was an insane undertone to every word and Stiles' heartbeat picked up, sensing danger. 

"I'll not go quietly, Stiles, oh no." From the corner of his eye, Stiles noticed that Peter still had the silver knife in his hand. "I'll make sure there's no one to carry on the Hale name. No one will remember in a few decades. Laura, Cora, Derek, Talia, Michael, everyone will be gone. No one to tell the story." Peter grinned madly, bringing the knife up. Stiles made an attempt to scramble away, but his body was frozen in spot. "Not even you." The silver flashed and Stiles opened his hand, praying for anything to help him.

There was a quiet clink, an arrow of Allison's appeared in Stiles' hand and he stabbed it into Peter's neck with hesitation.

Hot blood burst out, covering Stiles' hands, chest, soaking his hair. Peter made a gurgling sound, his hands coming up to clutch at Stiles' wrist, trying fruitlessly to stop the alarmingly quick flow. Stiles watched in horror as the life in Peter's eyes slowly trickled away; his fingers gripped firmly at the wooden shaft of the arrow.

In a minute or so, Stiles let go and Peter crumpled to the floor. Stiles couldn't look. He couldn't think about what he had just done. Slowly and carefully, he dragged himself over to Derek, laying a palm on his face. There was nearly no colour, but when Stiles leaned over him to try and listen for breath, he caught a faint whisper of exhales and inhales. That was good enough. Along with relief, waves of indescribable tiredness washed over him and he knew he wouldn't be going to look for help anytime soon even though he desperately wanted to. 

Instead, he found Derek's hand and curled next to Derek's side. It was more of a passing out than falling asleep.


	34. 33: Some Wounds Heal, Some Do Not

Stiles sat bolt upright, his hands flying to his face, trying to get rid of the blood that covered it. Peter's blood. Heavens, there was so much of it. And he caused it, he pushed the arrow into Peter's neck, he let the life trickle out of him.

As his fingers ran along his skin, confusion appeared in his features. There was nothing wet underneath his fingertips. And it wasn't stone floor he was sitting on.

Stars twinkled gently on the dark blue sky visible through the window while Stiles took in his surroundings. The soft mattress shifted beneath him as he moved, warm duvet fell away as he stood up. Shivering from the cold, Stiles walked past the bookshelves and wardrobe to the table. There were letters on it and despite the darkness of the room, Stiles recognised his handwriting. He was in his room.

Was it all just a dream? Did he never leave the Royal Hill?

Stiles gripped at the hem of the sleeping robe he was dressed in and lifted it up, inspecting the skin of his belly. On his left hip, there was a faint silver scar that had always been there.

On the right, there was a fresh one, red like blood.

The fabric fell from Stiles' fingers and settled back around his form with a soft whisper.

So it was true. It all happened.

Where was Derek? If he were alright, Stiles was sure he would have been right here with him. Which could only mean that Derek wasn't capable of coming. Stiles' breathing grew laboured as his brain produced idea after idea on what could be wrong apart from from the obvious fact that Derek had been stabbed in his back. Images and scenarios flew around in Stiles' head like a panicked flock of ravens and then suddenly everything slowed down and a single sentence appeared in the forefront, making the world screech to a halt.

What if Derek was dead?

Stiles turned on his heel and ran for the door.

Through the corridors, up and down the stairs, through more doors and gates. Stiles had to keep a check on himself to prevent any collision with walls; his senses seemed reluctant to work, slow to notice, and he kept losing his footing. There were guards outside Derek's door and after a moment, two more appeared behind Stiles, nearly out of breath. It looked like they chased after him the whole way from where they were probably stationed in front of Stiles' room; but Stiles paid it no mind. He wanted to see Derek.

The guards that had eyed him suspiciously before the other two arrived stepped aside to clear the way. Stiles knew he looked like a terrified rabbit as he gripped the handle, but he couldn't do anything about it. His insides were rolling around like bottles on a ship deck and it was making him sick.

The door clicked shut behind him. Despite the amount of time Stiles had spent in the Royal Hill, he had never been to Derek's quarters - apart from that unfortunate incident at the very beginning when Stiles had got lost. The space was, to be completely honest, enormous and decorated beautifully, but Stiles hardly paid any attention to the carved tables and ornate windowsills - the important part of the room was lying on the bed. Half-hidden beneath the covers was - Derek. Asleep, bruised, and pale like death itself, but breathing audibly, distinctly alive.

Stiles felt a tear sliding down his cheek and wiped it away quickly. Now wasn't the time.

"You don't have to just stand there, you know." 

The faint voice startled Stiles and he whipped around to see Queen Talia sitting in one of the armchairs. The dark had concealed her well.

"You're okay," Stiles whispered, recalling the last time he had seen her - crumpled on the floor at Peter's feet in a pool of her own blood.

"Mostly. My head still hurts, but Maester Deaton says it will pass in no time. My son, though," Talia stood up with a sigh, "is a different case. The outside wound will heal, Deaton tells me, but the damage it had done inside will be something to reckon with for the rest of his life."

"What does that mean?"

"I am not at all sure. Maester Deaton will surely explain if you ask him. Now that you are here," the Queen said, starting for the door, "it's time I went to bed."

"No," Stiles said quickly, "do not leave on my behalf. You are his mother."

"And you are his Chosen," Queen Talia countered, a soft smile appearing on her face, "and if I am right, and I tend to be, he cares a lot about you and will be most delighted to see you first thing upon waking up - moreso than he would have been to see me."

"I did not mean to..." Stiles trailed off, unsure of what he was going to say.

"And you didn't. But you are a great part of his life now and probably will be even greater in the future. If all ends up the way I think - hope - it will, Derek will have his king and Michael and I will have a new son." She smiled at Stiles and Stiles blushed. Reaching for the door handle, Queen Talia disappeared from the room.

Stiles stood on the spot for a couple more minutes, pondering what he had just heard, but then he shook it off; it wasn't what he came here for. Walking silently to the bed, Stiles sat down on the edge of it, carefully so as to not disturb Derek's sleep. Derek was resting on his belly and his face really was pale, almost like the sheets he was lying on, and there were bandages wrapped around his torso. On them, Stiles could see a couple small dark spots where blood had seeped through.

Shifting his weight, Stiles gently laid his hands on it, feeling the warmth radiating from Derek's body. There was slightly more than usual, but Stiles figured it was caused by the healing process currently preoccupying Derek's body. 

"I'm so sorry," Stiles whispered, although he wasn't sure what he was apologising for. Maybe for what happened, for the injury, for the member of Derek's family Stiles had killed, for the fact that Stiles couldn't heal him despite having magic in him.

"I am the one who should apologise," Derek mumbled and Stiles' eyes widened. His hand found Derek's and they clasped them tightly together. "I should have listened to you when you told me."

"We can talk about that later," Stiles whispered. "You should sleep."

"And I will. Once I'm done telling you that I'm sorry my ignorance caused you pain. If it wasn't for me," Derek's breath hitched, "you wouldn't have to deal with- with any of this."

"It was Peter who had done this, not you. You-"

"I couldn't protect you."

"But you did. Just look, _look_ ," Stiles stroked Derek's cheeks, bringing his eyes up. "I'm here."

Derek stared at him like he couldn't believe that Stiles was, indeed, sitting right there beside him. Stiles lowered his eyes to where their hands were connected.

"I love you," Derek said suddenly and Stiles' head snapped up. "You said it back- back there and I- I didn't have the chance to-"

Stiles leaned in and kissed him. Derek had wounds that wouldn't heal - and so did Stiles. After all that time apart, after all the things they've gone through, Stiles kissed Derek and the words still echoed in his mind: _I love you_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [tumblr](https://larryhaylik.tumblr.com/) & [the Fifth Hogwarts House project](https://fifthhogwarts.wordpress.com/)


	35. 34: Light Of The Day

"Wakey, wakey, Your Grace!"

Stiles groaned loudly at the cheerful tone and lifted the edge of the duvet to hide his face beneath it. It wasn't just an act of defiance - it was self-defence. A moment later, the world behind his eyelids and above the duvet became considerably lighter as Erica opened the curtains; and she did so quite enthusiastically if the harsh slapping sound of textile hitting textile was any indicator.

"I'm not a royal, you know," Stiles mumbled into the soft, warm cover, refusing to move. 

"Yet," Erica chirped. Stiles could hear footsteps and suddenly there was a weight dipping the mattress an inch or so lower. "Which reminds us of what? That's right." She slapped the pillow next to Stiles' head before dragging the pillow away. "Rise and shine, our lovely bride."

Worming deeper beneath the duvet, Stiles sighed and opened his eyes. The space was filled with gentle yellow light and the outline of Erica's body formed a shadow on the so-called roof of his little fort.

"Come on, Stiles. Get out." Erica's voice changed from self-assured to soothing in a matter of seconds. "I know you're scared. Everyone is, on their wedding day."

"I'm not scared," Stiles complained, finally sticking his head into the light of the day. And what a bright light it was. Moaning, he threw his arm over his eyes.

"Hah. Tell that to your mothe-" Erica's mouth snapped shut so quickly the room echoed with the click of her teeth and Stiles' brow furrowed. Since that... _happening_ with Peter and the following explanations, everyone had seemed to tiptoe around the subject of Stiles' heritage as if it was highly combustive and a single word could light up a flame that would burn all in its path to ashes. Even Derek was reluctant to address it straightforwardly. The only person willing to discuss the issue honestly was Allison; she had left to ensure the safety of her parents after Kate's death and the disintegration of the rebellion but also given and kept a promise to return for the wedding.

The wedding. Stiles' apparently big day. His father had arrived yesterday, as had Scott and Queen Melissa. And about half the whole land. Who would have known that a royal wedding would cause such stirring?

"Okay, it's been long enough. Get out of the bed." The mattress bounced as Erica got up. 

Stiles sat up gingerly. Sometimes, the new scar on his belly would hurt in a morning, burning like a reminder of what had happened. Stiles had visited Maester Deaton several times to have it checked and been assured repeatedly that there was nothing out of the ordinary. Despite that, Deaton had offered a numbing salve that was now hidden in the drawer of Stiles' table, and Stiles used it on those special days while attempting to convince himself it was working.

Dragging himself to a standing position, Stiles put on a robe, washed his face quickly and ate the breakfast Erica had brought in. Then he was whisked away to the preparation room where his wedding clothes and half a dozen maids waited for him.

"Let's get you all pretty for Derek," Erica said determinedly, pulled the robe from Stiles' shoulders and pushed him towards the wooden tub filled with hot water and herbs.

 _Derek_ , Stiles thought as he was being scrubbed within an inch of his life. The relationship between them was... something Stiles never heard of. Tentative but sure, they danced together carefully, but without a misstep, holding onto each other.

As his hair was being combed and smoothed and balms rubbed into his skin, Stiles recalled a conversation Derek and he had had barely three days after Peter. Derek had been pale but standing on his own and Stiles' heart had been in his throat because Derek had just proposed to him.

_"Are- are you sure?" Stiles stammered, eyes wide._

_"Of course I'm sure." Derek levelled him with a look. "You're independent, clever, headstrong but willing to admit your own flaws and mistakes, eloquent, able and honest. You've got the court under your thumb, my family already sees you as one of our own. And I love you."_

A soft smile stretched across Stiles' lips as a tiny blonde girl pulled a crisp white shirt over his head and started lacing it. Derek had lit up like a night sky when Stiles accepted, smiling and wrapping him into his arms.

The preparations had been one big crazed bundle of planning, measuring, counting, writing, sending and deciding and Stiles was genuinely glad he didn't have to do anything else than invite his father and show up for the tailoring of his wedding clothes - a white shirt, pale brown breeches and waistcoat, dark blue coat. All of which he was currently dressed in, which was probably the reason why Erica gently ushered him into a carriage, pushed a handkerchief into his hand in case he got sweaty - amazing foresight, since Stiles could already feel little droplets making their way down his temple - and suddenly the sound hooves filled the air and Stiles was bouncing on the stone road to the chapel.

It was a decidedly shorter ride than Stiles had hoped for and in nearly no time, the carriage drew to a halt outside a rather low white chapel. The gate was decorated with a canopy of flowers and below it waited Stiles' father. He merely managed to squeeze Stiles in a tight hug and then the doors opened and while the cool air inside instantly soothed Stiles' burning skin, there was nothing to be done about the nervous buzz that flowed through his veins.

Doubts. Doubts about himself, about the future, just about anything he could imagine, but never, Stiles realised as he stopped before Derek, taking his hands into his own, never a single doubt about Derek.

Stiles looked up from their clasped hands to Derek's face and smiled, warmth flooding him at Derek's own answering smile. 

Stiles wasn't perfect and neither was Derek. But they seemed perfect to each other and that was all that mattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week's chapter will be the last. Thank you to all and every single one of you who read, gave kudos and commented. It means the world to me.   
> [tumblr](https://larryhaylik.tumblr.com/) & [the Fifth Hogwarts House project](https://fifthhogwarts.wordpress.com/)


	36. Epilogue

"Can't we just do it later?"

Stiles' whine wafted through the door and Derek smiled.

"Trust me," Derek said, eyes staying on the book he was currently immersed in, "I'd much rather be taking the clothes off you."

Erica giggled. The royal tailor didn't bat an eyelash. He had spent way too long around the family to care for this kind of wit anymore.

"Why don't you?"

"Because you can't go to your father's in the same attire as last time," Derek sighed in defeat and laid down the book, heaving himself out of the plush armchair. A wince run across his features. Although it had been almost a year, from time to time his back would still remind him of the wound that had once pierced it.

"Like he remembers anything I wore back then. All he had his eyes on was you," Stiles scoffed, shaking his head, and hissed as the movement caused one of the pins to prick his skin.

"Exactly. I felt like I was going to be eaten alive if I misstepped a single time. What if he thought I didn't take proper care of you? I like all my limbs intact." Derek leaned against the doorway and watched with affection as Stiles did his best to not squirm and failed miserably. The man simply had too much life in him.

"That's why you have me to protect you," Stiles grinned widely and twisted his fingers just so in the direction of a bouquet of gillyflowers that stood on the table. Derek watched in fascination as all the flowers straightened up like soldiers called to attention.

Something had changed in Stiles on the night Peter performed the ritual. Stiles had many times attempted to explain what he had been able to do before and how much had his talents expanded, but it didn't make much sense to Derek. The only thing he knew was that leaves rustled wherever Stiles went, flower heads turned to him in welcome and high grass parted to make way when he walked. On one particular occasion - on the wedding night - Derek had woken up to find that the wooden window frames had sprouted. It had left the castle staff thoroughly befuddled, but not moreso than Stiles himself.

"All done, master Stiles," the tailor said in a shaky voice. It had always bewildered Derek that his voice wavered like drying sheets in the wind but his hands were perfectly steady.

"Just Stiles, Mercin. Please." Stiles scrunched his nose in distaste. Any sort of formal address still left him uncomfortable.

Mercin bowed and along with Erica vacated the room.

Stiles jumped from the stool he had been standing on, landed all wrong and stumbled right into Derek's awaiting arms.

"I don't get how you always try to be deft when you know from the start you're going to end up falling over," Derek said fondly, leaving his arms around Stiles' waist even when the other man gained his footing.

"Trail and error," Stiles grinned, laying one palm on Derek's chest. "It's going to work one day. Until then," Stiles brought himself to his tiptoes to kiss Derek swiftly, "I'll just keep on expecting you to catch me."

"I'm going to step aside one of these days and enjoy you falling onto your face."

"You wouldn't!" Stiles gasped in fake horror. His deep brown eyes were wide, staring at Derek with mischief and utter content.

"You're right," Derek mumbled as he leaned down to press his forehead against Stiles', "I wouldn't."

Stiles surged forward to join their lips again and Derek smiled into the kiss. Even after all that time, Stiles was still happy to take any and all opportunity to have his way with Derek.

See, Derek had once thought Stiles was a very innocent young man. Even after the wedding night, Stiles seemed like a tentative shy being when it came to intimacy, but somewhere along the road, the image shattered to nearly nonexistent pieces, which was how the backs of Derek's legs hit the edge of the bed while he had no recollection of even moving. Stiles bit into Derek's lower lip, pulled enough to have Derek hiss from the sting and with the release Stiles shoved at Derek's shoulders. Derek let himself fall backwards.

The mattress dipped lower as Stiles crawled onto the bed, and jumped when he swung his leg over Derek's middle, settling comfortably on Derek's lap with a lot of wriggling. Which was rather unnecessary, if you asked Derek.

"We don't have enough time," Derek said, a little breathier than he would have liked. "It's almost dinner."

"Dinner is completely irrelevant when it comes to fulfilling one's wedding vows," Stiles proclaimed assuredly, running his hands beneath Derek's shirt, over his stomach, chest, nipples. Derek shivered inadvertently, feeling himself harden. "I promised to keep you happy. And if I remember correctly, you said not so long ago that you'd much like to get me out of my clothes."

Stiles bent forward, dragging his hips over Derek's, and kissed down Derek's neck.

"That I did," Derek groaned as Stiles bit down, certainly leaving a mark. Derek bared his throat further, basking in the attention Stiles' lips, teeth and tongue gave him. He hadn't known he would like it the first time Stiles gathered the courage to try; it turned out Derek did. Very much so.

Derek lifted his hands and tugged at the laces of Stiles' shirt with unsteady fingers and when it was loose enough, Stiles pulled it over his head. Derek's hands were immediately on Stiles' skin, touching every available surface. The air was filled with soft groans, low moans, the sound of fabric hitting the floor and occasional creaks of the wooden bedframe.

Derek ran his palms down Stiles' naked thighs. Stiles was spread below him, a picture of wantonness at its most potent, arms stretched above his head and blinking his beautiful eyes in faux-innocence while his lips stretched in a devious smirk. Derek pulled himself up a little to kiss it away but succeeded only when one of his oiled fingers touched at Stiles entrance and began to push in. Stiles' mouth opened then in silent surprise and Derek smiled to himself, satisfied.

It was quite honestly no wonder that Stiles was as vocal among the sheets as he was in normal life. If Derek did something right - like when he bent his finger and grazed the firmer, pleasure-inducing spot inside Stiles' body - Stiles would let him know. And consequently, if there was something else Stiles wanted, for Derek to add another finger perhaps, the room would echo with a high dissonant sound; just like this one, can you hear it?

"As much as I would love for you to continue for a couple more hours," Stiles croaked from above Derek, "I think that's enough."

"Mhm." Derek pressed his mouth into the crease of Stiles' thigh. "What if I don't want to just yet?"

Stiles' legs tightened around Derek's shoulders and Derek looked up to find Stiles grinning, flush high on his cheeks, pillowcases wrinkled from where his hands fisted in them.

"I must insist."

"And I guess your wish is my pleasure?"

"Quite literally."

Derek couldn't help but snort. He slicked himself up and pushed into the heat of Stiles' body, sensing the moment it tensed and then loosened. A content sigh slipped out of Stiles' mouth, quickly followed by a sharp intake of breath when Derek pulled out and thrust in again. The flush travelled from Stiles' cheeks down his chest and Derek's fingers pressed bruises into his hips, marking, claiming.

They moved in tandem, skin slapping against skin with noises loud enough that it made Derek feel slightly ashamed. But beneath him, Stiles was moaning softly with every move, his head thrown back, and Derek had seen a lot of beautiful things in his life, but nothing came close to this, to having Stiles to himself, to love him and be loved by him in return.

Derek's fingernails dug into Stiles' skin, probably harder than was strictly necessary since Stiles gave a yelp of pain, but Derek couldn't help it. The tightness in his groin uncoiled and he held his breath, letting the pleasure take over. Only half aware of his actions, he took Stiles into his hand and with a deep shudder, Stiles followed the suit; only more loudly than Derek.

They trembled against each other, piecing the scattered thought back together. Derek pulled out, lying down alongside Stiles. One of his arms sneaked up and he let his fingers dance on Stiles' sweat-damp skin.

It was one of the things Derek loved doing the most - just smoothing his hands down the expanses of pale, mole-dotted skin, soaking up the warmth and the soft smell of Stiles. He could spend hours doing just this, Derek thought distantly, just touching gently, reverently.

Derek's fingertips traced the two matching scars on Stiles' hipbones and Stiles' breath hitched. The skin there was tender, even more so around the scars. Derek looked up and sat up swiftly upon seeing the unsure, borderline ashamed look on Stiles' face. He laid a palm on Stiles' cheek and Stiles leaned into it gratefully.

"It still- I'm not-" Stiles attempted to voice his concerns, but the sentences broke off as sharply as a handle of a dropped cup.

"Shh. I know." Derek pressed their lips together once more. "But I told you before - they are beautiful. How could they not be when they are a part of you?"

"Sappy," Stiles laughed wetly and Derek could see he did not believe Derek's words. 

"Come here," Derek said, hand outstretched. Stiles took it after a moment of hesitation and let himself be pulled onto his feet. Derek walked towards the corner of the room, feeling Stiles' bewilderment but opting to ignore it.

Stiles stopped abruptly the second he figured out Derek's intentions. There was a tall mirror resting against the wall. Derek turned to face Stiles, recognising his expression as one a little fearful, and smiled reassuringly.

"Please," Derek whispered and took another step. Stiles followed him, letting himself to be positioned in front of the looking glass, Derek pressed along his back, steady arms wrapping Stiles in a warm embrace.

"See," Derek said quietly, "you are still you. It doesn't matter if there is a line more on your skin. What matters is what's inside you."

"But I don't know what's inside me," Stiles answered, voice wobbling. "Neither do you. Nobody does. It could be deadly dangerous and I'd still be here, putting all of you at risk."

"Nonsense," Derek said firmly. "You are not dangerous."

"But what if I am? What if that thing inside can hurt people - what if it can kill them?!" 

Derek's eyes snapped up at the sudden change of tone. Stiles' eyes were ablaze with undisguised anger, his knuckles white, fists shaking. 

"Stiles, I'm positive it's alright. I trust-"

"You don't understand-"

"So tell me-"

"There's no way of telling!" Stiles yelled at the top of his lungs.

Derek stayed quiet for a moment.

"So show me." The words tumbled from Derek's lips and Stiles' eyes snapped to Derek's. When he saw no doubt in them, something in him let go. Derek watched as the two scars lit up with silvery light- the world shook, Derek fell, and darkness took rule.

Derek woke up, not knowing how much later. The room was... barely recognisable. Everything that was once growing was green again - bed, windows, parts of the floor, logs by the fireplace, even the mirror frame and the hairbrushes by it. Derek turned his head to find Stiles lying next to him, unconscious, the scars blood red, and a single thought flitted through his mind: _What if Stiles was right?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that is it, my friends. The end is deliberately left the way it is. I have ideas and plans, but can't promise anything.
> 
> I hope that you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it - that is, with a couple of dorky smiles, bursts of laughter and many screams of frustration.
> 
> And again, because it can't be left unsaid: thank you. To every single one of you. Thank you.
> 
> [tumblr](https://www.larryhaylik.tumblr.com) & [Haremoon Project](https://www.fifthhogwarts.wordpress.com)


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